


Push

by Leaper



Series: Talented [1]
Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Telekinesis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-04
Updated: 2014-08-05
Packaged: 2018-02-03 09:02:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 127,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1738949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leaper/pseuds/Leaper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dave Karofsky is telekinetic.  This makes everything much more complicated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Never Been Kissed**

It began with the words.

"… how extraordinarily ordinary you are—"

Then came the kiss. The lips over his, the hands cupping his cheeks.

Kurt’s gut churned with a hundred different emotions and reactions at once, but they could all be called different shades of a single one: shock. Cold, heart squeezing, brain freezing shock. Kurt wanted to yell, faint, vomit… all at the same time. But his nerves were so charged, they couldn’t command his muscles to move; he could feel the electricity in his bones.

Finally, _finally_ , the lips parted from his. There was such longing on Karofsky’s face that for a moment, it was all Kurt could see. How did he not know this? How could he have missed something this big all this time, when it was crossing his path in one way or another nearly every day? If he’d been able, Kurt would’ve been chiding himself for his perhaps willful blindness.

Then Karofsky leaned towards him again, and that finally snapped him out of his paralysis. Kurt jumped back, nearly stumbling over his own feet as he gained some space. Maybe now he could catch his breath, maybe now he could _think_ he couldn’t think this was too much this was—

A high pitched whine issued from Karofsky’s throat. His fist slammed against his locker. He turned… then he screamed — an animal scream of pain. Kurt watched as Karofsky fell to his knees, the heels of his hands pressing against his forehead.

"Karofsky?" Kurt began.

"Nononono…"

"K-Karofsky…?" He’d never know what he was thinking of saying next; perhaps that was for the best.

"StopstopstopSTOPSTOP…"

Then Karofsky’s locker door swung wide open, metal clanging against metal as it rattled its neighbor. Kurt blinked; how the hell had that happened? Neither of them was even close to—

Then another locker door opened. And another. And another. Every single locker hurled open.

And no one was touching them.

Kurt felt bile burn in his throat. The shock had him hallucinating. It had to be. But damn if it wasn’t the most realistic hallucination ever…

Then the locker at the end of the row began shaking, rocking back and forth as if in an earthquake. Finally, after long seconds, it crashed to the floor, the metallic din piercing Kurt’s eardrums. Then another shook and fell. Then another. All the while, Karofsky was on the floor, screaming and crying and holding his head.

Finally, the noise stopped; now it was the silence that deafened Kurt. Karofsky was surrounded by fallen lockers, his sobs subsiding into hiccups and gulps. He looked up; their eyes met. Karofsky’s eyes were deep, wet, full of so much: pain, longing, but most of all, sheer and utter terror…

Karofsky scrambled unsteadily to his feet. He stepped over one of the fallen lockers and rushed out the door. Kurt didn’t try to stop him, didn’t try to call out to him — he couldn’t. He couldn’t even move. Even when Coach Hill came into the room and demanded to know what had happened, Kurt couldn’t move.

The lockers weren’t the only thing that had collapsed all around him. His entire world had.

* * *

**That Night**

Burt and Carole had long given up trying to break Kurt’s silence. “If he needs us,” the latter said to the former in her most reassuring tone, “he’ll come to us.” Burt nodded silently, casting a worried glance at his son.

Kurt paid them no heed, as he’d paid them no heed since the moment he got home. He was too busy trying to explain the unexplainable.

Earthquake? He would’ve felt one if he had. Besides, what kind of earthquake could’ve done what he’d seen?

Hallucination? No, he realized now that had been desperation. If his senses were fooling him that thoroughly, life made even less sense than he thought.

Some kind of trick or prank? No, he’d sounded every wall, examined every locker, over Coach Hill’s interrogation. The concrete was solid, the metal was unbroken, the locker doors free of trap or trick.

It didn’t make sense. It just _didn’t make sense_. The world did _not_ operate like that. It just didn’t. Kurt was deep in his pondering when Finn wandered into the room.

One thing to make clear at this point: Finn usually had a pretty good sense of how much privacy he had. This time, however, was different. First of all, he was on the phone with someone he usually didn’t talk to, and that had him thrown a little. Secondly, the subject itself was a little serious. Thirdly, Kurt was sitting in an easy chair in the corner of the living room, in the dark, so Finn didn’t see him.

All that added up to Finn striding into the living room and continuing his conversation absolutely ignorant of his fellow glee clubber’s presence.

"No, Mr. Karofsky, I haven’t seen Karo— uh, Dave since this morning at school."

In his chair, Kurt stiffened at the name. What little breath he had caught in his throat.

"I’m afraid I don’t know," Finn continued to the unheard voice at the other end. "Have you tried asking Azimio? Oh…"

Karofsky hadn’t gone home? Another pit began opening in Kurt’s stomach.

"I mean, I suppose he could still be at school… Have you tried…? Oh. Well, I’m sorry I can’t help… If I hear from him, I’ll be sure to call…"

Finn was pacing out of the living room at that point, and Kurt couldn’t help but feel a little stab of pride for Finn and his concern for someone who’d given him so little but grief. It was the kind of burgeoning compassion that had fueled that disastrous and embarrassing crush, but it was still something he admired.

But back to Karofsky. What the hell had happened to him? Kurt supposed he had every reason in the world to stay away from this — and a few more he would never have imagined in a million years — but he had to know. He _had_ to, if only for his own sanity… What he’d seen had been eating away at him for hours; having to endure even more was more than he could bear. One way or another, he had to _know_.

Finn was still on the phone, Dad and Carole in the kitchen. Without a word to anyone, he grabbed his coat and let himself gently out the front door. He climbed into his car and drove away, towards McKinley High. In the condition Karofsky was in, he probably couldn’t have gotten far.

But as he drove, one question nagged at him: was he more afraid he wouldn’t find Karofsky there… or that he would?

* * *

**Calm**

Even Kurt knew about the busted lock in the gymnasium door; he’d certainly heard enough about it from passing classmates sharing that tidbit of information for all sorts of purposes of varying degrees of mischief. He gulped as he groped his way through the dark; he wished he’d thought to grab a flashlight, but he knew that had he put in even that much thought, he might not have come at all.

Fortunately, the hallway lights were on at half power, the dim light almost more sinister than the dark. Kurt took a deep breath and steeled his spine as he roamed the halls. He was suddenly very conscious of how _big_ McKinley was, emphasized by the emptiness of hallways he was used to navigating while full of people. True, there were many (too many) who wanted to do him some kind of harm, but in that moment… he would’ve killed to have any one of them by his side.

His heart was pounding in his ears, almost (almost) drowning out the muffled sobbing. Kurt stopped dead for a moment. Yes, muffled sobbing. Kurt took a deep breath, then followed the sound. It was coming from the library; the door was cracked open.

Gently, oh so gently, Kurt entered. There were a few odd lights left on here and there by a careless student or janitor, but most of the shelves were cloaked in shadow. Yes, the sobbing was definitely coming from here. He rounded a set of shelves… and saw it.

David Karofsky sat huddled in the middle of one of the aisles. Even in this dim light, Kurt could see the wet streaks down his face. But that wasn’t what had Kurt’s attention at the moment.

_That_ was held by the books — the books that were floating in mid air all around the football player. Some were just hanging there, others were lazily circling, with a few just slamming themselves against their shelved brethren like birds flying into a window.

Denial was impossible now. Kurt wanted to scream, to cry… But somehow, _somehow_ , he held himself together. He wasn’t sure how — perhaps the glowing ember of curiosity in him was starting to take hold. Perhaps it was some kind of deep-rooted survival instinct. Whatever it was, he was grateful for it; he needed all the strength he could get.

"Karof— David? Dave?" Kurt spoke gently, softly, as if trying to calm a skittish cat.

Karof— Dave’s head snapped up even at that low sound. “Hummel…?”

"Are you—?" _Are you okay?_ What an utterly ridiculous question. Kurt wanted to slushie _himself_ for even thinking of asking something as idiotic as that.

"Get away!" The voice wasn’t at all angry or harsh — it was desperate, pained. The demand actually sounded like it was being made in genuine fear _for_ Kurt. It was almost as much of a wonder as the impossibility being made actual all around him. “I don’t want to hurt you!”

The irony of the plea was not at all lost on Kurt; he actually had to tamp down his cynical side. This was no time for that. The ember of curiosity was now a roaring, full flame. “It’s okay. I just want to make sure you’re all right.” He took a step forward.

“ _Get away!_ " Four of the books that had been suspended in the air suddenly flew in all directions.

Kurt jumped, even though none of them had even come close to him; they all crashed against a wall or a shelf before dropping to the floor. Still, the pounding in Kurt’s ears began again. He had to take a moment before trying again. “Your dad’s worried about you.”

Dave sniffled. “H-he’s better off without me.” Kurt’s heart sank in his chest; the words were so shot through with fear and self-hate and despair that he hadn’t thought David Karofsky capable of that it was another cannon blast to the carefully built and seemingly impregnable walls of his old world view. “Freaks don’t belong. They don’t deserve to be _alive_.”

Kurt tried to speak through his desert dry mouth, but couldn’t, not at first. He sat carefully down on the floor near Dave, crossing his legs underneath him. “You’re not a freak, Dave,” he said gently.

Dave laughed, high and bitter. The books floating above trembled, as if a stiff gust were blowing through them. “You’re fucking kidding, right? I… I fucking _kissed_ you. I…!” He waved his hands helplessly around him, at the books. “This… _I’m_ not normal! I…!” Fresh tears ran down his cheeks as his fingers clutched at his hair.

"So you _are_ doing it…” The sentence came out of him breathy, awed. He’d suspected, obviously, but hearing the words… He somehow knew, implicitly, that they were true, and they were as fascinating as they were frightening. There were so many “hows” coming to mind, one after another after another, so fast that he had to force them down. Asking wouldn’t do any good, not now, not for him, not for Dave.

And he _was_ concerned for Dave. He felt like he should’ve been surprised at this revelation, but he wasn’t — not now that he knew that there was something (so much) to him that was more than the swaggering, bullying jock he presented himself as. Dave apparently wasn’t surprised when _it_ happened in the locker room, which meant he already knew what he was capable of… For how long? How’d he find out? How…?

And there were the “hows” again. Kurt snorted to himself in disgust and tamped them down once more. He knew his growing excitement was kind of morbid. However natural and human his reaction was, there were bigger issues at stake.

"I can’t control it," Dave said plaintively, putting Kurt’s attention squarely back to the immediate. "I… It doesn’t happen when I’m happy and confident and shit, but if I lose it, if I… _Fuck_!” More books literally flew off the shelves, joining their flock mates in their chaotic dance in the air. His face sank between his knees, which were folded against his chest; Kurt could see his entire body tremble.

Well, that explained a lot. Not excused, obviously, not in the execution, but certainly explained. Kurt slid a little closer; Dave didn’t seem to notice, thank God. “D-do your parents know…?”

Dave shook his head without looking up. “I… I’ve managed to hide it…” No surprise to Kurt, considering _everything_ he was hiding… “No one knows… I was doing so good, it wasn’t happening, but then you had to go around all out and shit and make me lose it and now I can’t get it to stop…”

The outrage stirred in Kurt at being blamed was, surprisingly enough, overwhelmed by the further implications. “You… you’ve been dealing with this…” (With being gay…) “All alone?”

Dave laughed wetly. “Who the fuck could I talk to? Someone who’d sell me out to a circus or some shit? Someone who’d call a bunch of scientists to dissect my brain? Someone…” He swallowed audibly. “Someone who’d look at me like I’m a monster…?” Somehow, that third possibility sounded _worse_ than both of the others put together. “I already know what that’s like…” Damn, did _that_ pummel Kurt with all kinds of mixed emotions. “… and I can’t lose my mom and dad… I’d rather die than watch them look at me different…” His arms tightened around his folded-up legs, and the books whirled around their heads in equal agitation. “I’d rather die…”

Kurt swallowed, knowing from the bottom of his soul that he was about to make an absolutely colossal mistake. But what other choice did he have? He slid even closer to Dave; still he didn’t notice. “I want to help you.” Even though he knew that once he spoke the words, there would be no turning back, they were firmer, and easier to say, than he’d thought they’d be.

Dave’s head shot up; the books stopped moving, as if as startled as Dave was. “Wh—? You?”

"Yes, me. Why not?" Kurt turned his nose up. "I think I’d be a lot more help than Azimio could ever be."

"But… why? You hate me…"

"I don’t hate you, Dave." Again, surprise at realizing just how true it was, at least now. "I hate what you did to me and my friends. That’s a lot different from hating _you_. Besides… I’m involved now, whether we want it or not. No one else knows, do they?” Dave shook his head. “I refuse to leave you alone with… all this. I won’t let you destroy yourself, either literally or figuratively, for something you can’t control. And unlike—” He paused, reforming his thought. “Unlike your… feelings… I think this is something you _can_ control. You said it yourself — you’ve been doing it before. I know you can do it again.”

"H-how? How the hell can _you_ help _me_?”

"You don’t have to sound _that_ skeptical.” Kurt couldn’t help but smile, and he thought he saw just the tiniest shadow of a grin pass over Dave’s pressed lips. “And honestly… I don’t know. What I do know is that it’ll be a lot easier for two to figure it out than one. And that it’ll help a lot — both you _and_ me — to have someone you can talk to about your… secrets, someone to share the burden with. And I’m willing to be that someone.”

"But… _why_?”

_Good question_. “I guess… because I’m interested. Not just in this…” He waved at the books with the same careless gesture as Dave had, “but in you. Honestly, I’m amazed you’ve kept so many secrets… You’re a lot smarter than I thought.”

Now Dave actually smirked. “You don’t have to sound _that_ skeptical,” he aped. One of the books gently floated to the floor, and Kurt’s heart leaped; he was more sure than ever now he was doing the right thing.

He laughed. “Fair enough. But seriously…” Now Kurt felt like he could dare — _had_ to dare, had to make that connection. He gently reached over and touched Dave’s arm; Dave looked down at the hand in shock perhaps deeper than Kurt had felt that afternoon in the locker room. “I want to help. I want you to look in the mirror and see someone worthwhile. Someone who’s _not_ a freak, no matter how much he feels like one. Will you give me that chance? Will you give _yourself_ that chance?”

He left the last question unasked: “who else is there?” They both knew the answer: no one, and it was at once the best and the worst thing that it was true. Dave’s lip was trembling; he was staring, the dried tear tracks shining in the dim light. Finally, he nodded.

The books fell from the air. One of them bounced right off the top of Kurt’s head. “Ow! Son of a—” He glared at Dave’s snicker. “Okay, if we’re going to do this, rule number one: no mockery!”

Dave roared with laughter, much louder than the situation warranted. It was as though some kind of dam inside him had broken, and rapids were gushing out all at once. His hysteria took a couple of moments to calm; he finally managed to catch a few deep breaths. “Sure,” he gasped. “Whatever you say, Hummel.”

"Kurt."

"What?"

"If we’re going to be working together, at least do me the privilege of addressing me by my given name."

"Sure." Dave nodded slowly, a little reluctantly. "K-Kurt." He took another breath. "I…"

"Yes…?"

"Y-you really mean this? You really want to…? You don’t think I’m a…?"

"Yes, I really mean and want to do this, and no, I don’t think you’re a freak or a monster, for _any_ reason. Rule number two: I am a sincere man. I am as open as the day is long. So believe what I tell you, because unlike a lot of other people, I have _no_ reason to lie or string you along.”

"I…" He frowned at the thought. "I guess that’s kinda true…" Dave shook his head in wonder. "You’re kinda crazy for doing this, Hum— Kurt. But… Okay. I believe you."

He was already sounding like his “normal” self (though what exactly that was was a conception that had changed in Kurt’s mind for good), which was almost stupidly relieving. “Good. Now…” Kurt looked about them, at the scattering of literary debris all around them. “Who’s going to clean this up?”

"Not me."

"Me neither. Let’s just get out of here before someone catches us."

* * *

**Focus**

"Seriously, Hu— Kurt?  Isn’t this kind of…?"

Kurt cracked open one eye. “If you say ‘gay,’ I’m going to slap you, telekinesis or no. Now shut up and relax.”

"Okay, okay," Dave grumbled under his breath, readjusting his legs folded underneath him.  "It’s just… I thought this kinda shit was for hippies and soccer moms."

"You said your… abilities seemed to be tied to your emotions, right?"  Kurt still felt a little shaky talking about Dave’s… talent; it was as though he were caught up in one of those live action role playing games Sam and Artie tried to rope him into once — he was taking the absurd seriously.  Yet it wasn’t so absurd anymore, was it? He’d seen too much to dismiss it now.  It made him wonder what else there was out there whose existence he dismissed.  Aliens?  Werewolves?  God?  Now that someone he knew personally was able to break every single law of biology and physics the world had taught him, wasn’t _anything_ possible?

That, perhaps more than any other thought, was what kept him up at night.  Thus the current “lesson” in relaxation; it was as much for Kurt as it was for Dave.  “Well, yoga and meditation are widely practiced by people of all kinds, and is actually very relaxing,” he continued.  “They allow you to clear your mind, to focus.  And that’s what you need right now.”  Actually, Kurt really had little idea of what Dave “needed”; neither of them knew a damn thing about how Dave’s power worked, and it wasn’t like they could consult anything or anyone other than Internet kooks and movies.  But Dave wasn’t Phoenix (Kurt hoped), and as he’d said to Dave that night in the library, at least two blind gropers had double the chance of finding something important.  “Now less talking, more breathing.  Remember: long breaths, from deep in the chest.”

"Deep in the chest…"

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Don’t think about the absurdity.  Don’t think about the fear.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

* * *

**Comes to Shove  
**

Dave glared at the pencil as if it had just insulted his mother. “Dammit!”

"You’re concentrating too hard, Dave." With his dad and Carole out, and Finn with Quinn, the Hummel living room was the perfect temporary base of operations.  Kurt moved all the breakable objects to the kitchen, though, just in case; he made a mental note to search for better options.

“I thought my problem was that I wasn’t concentrating _enough_.”

“It’s both.  You won’t be able to control this unless you assert some. Think about how you feel when it happens…” Kurt cocked his head.  It hadn’t occurred to him before, but maybe it’d help them both get a better handle on this.  It certainly wasn’t because he was curious.  “How _does_ it feel?”

“I…” Dave sighed, leaning back against the back of the chair.  “It’s like there’s this buzzing in my head, this… pressure that builds up. If it builds up bad enough, it’s like it has to go _somewhere_ , so it just… bursts out of me.”

“Does it… hurt?” Kurt thought of that afternoon in the locker room.  He wondered how different life would be right now if hadn’t been for Blaine and his (in retrospect, bad) advice.  He hadn’t really talked to Blaine since that afternoon; he’d be able to tell something was wrong, and what could Kurt possibly tell him? _Well, I confronted my bully, like you suggested, only it turns out he has psychic powers and I think I need to help him figure out how to control it._ It was absurd (there was that word again — but what others could describe this entire situation?).

Dave was silent for a moment before he answered.  “Sometimes.  If I’m upset enough or I haven’t used the power for long enough.”

“How do you usually… use it?”

“Most of the time, it just happens.  A lot of the times it’s when I’m asleep, especially if I have a really intense dream.  That’s a big part of the reason I asked for my bedroom to be in the attic.  It’s got a lot of space, I can sneak out easy, and my folks don’t come up too often, so I can clean up when it… happens.”

“Then maybe that’s the key,” Kurt said.  “If it builds up like that, then maybe to have control, you have to use it, be comfortable using it.”

“I… I don’t know if I can…” Dave’s hands clutched at each other so tightly his knuckles turned white. The pencil, which had lain stubbornly still the entire afternoon, rolled towards Kurt.

“You’re scared of it,” Kurt said quietly. _Of yourself_. _Of what you feel, of what you’re capable of._   Just one secret would’ve been enough, would’ve been so huge that it could’ve felt overwhelming.  But two, at once…? No wonder Dave lashed out, went nearly mad.  He wondered how he would’ve handled such a burden… But his designer’s mind couldn’t help but imagine spandex… Or maybe leather… Primarily black, with a few buckles for emphasis…

“Of course I am!” Dave jumped to his feet, pacing the room. “I’m fucking dangerous! Every day I’m fucking terrified I could hurt someone…”

“Mmm.” There must’ve been something, some shade of tone, in that seemingly neutral murmur that caught Dave’s attention, for his entire form seemed to collapse in on itself.

“God, I’m so sorry, Kurt,” he said, so quietly and sincerely that Kurt didn’t have any choice to believe.  “I thought if I were confident enough, if I could be a _big man_ , that it wouldn’t happen, that I could keep it down, be _normal_ …” He threw himself back into his chair, suddenly looking exhausted.  “And as shitty as I could be, as much as I hurt you, it’s _nothing_ compared to what I know I could do with this fucking power…” He buried his face in his hands.  “Maybe I deserve it.”  The words were muffled, but clear to Kurt’s ears nonetheless. “Maybe this is my punishment… Being cursed like this…”

One part of Kurt wanted to object to that characterization, express his amazement (and perhaps let through just a little of the low-level envy he felt), but all the other parts knew how insensitive that would be.  The last thing Dave needed to hear right now was that his power, that had caused him so much worry and made him feel so isolated from the rest of humanity, was some kind of “gift.”  So instead he said carefully, “I don’t think that’s true, Dave.  I don’t think it’s a matter of deserving — you were born how you were born, and it’s not your fault… It just _is_.” Kurt was quite conscious of the layers, but didn’t bother to point it out.  Not only was Dave most likely more than conscious of them, but the whole homosexuality thing hadn’t even come up in all the time Kurt had been attempting to help him — they’d had more pressing matters to deal with.  “What matters is how you handle it, how you use it… How long have you been able to do this, anyway?”  Dave was silent for so long that either he fell asleep, or Kurt had hit on something that was probably key to Dave’s psyche.  “If you don’t want to talk about it, you don’t have to…”

“I almost killed my brother.” This time, Kurt wasn’t sure he heard right, not until Dave’s face rose, tears welling in his eyes for the first time since that day.  “I almost killed my brother,” he repeated.  He took a ragged breath and continued.  “I was… twelve, I think.  Thirteen, maybe.  Jack’s five years older than me; he was in his senior year in high school, I remember.  He was kind of the typical older brother: a real bastard.  We were in the front yard, and he was messing with me; I don’t even remember how or why.  I was getting madder and madder, and that just made him enjoy messing with me even more.”  Dave swallowed.  “I remember feeling it then, feeling it just kinda… welling up inside me, but I had no idea what it was, and I wasn’t even really paying attention to it, I was so mad at Jack.  Finally, I just couldn’t take it anymore; between Jack and the pressure in my head, I thought I was gonna explode.  I just screamed ‘Leave me alone!’ and Jack… He just went flying backwards…”

One of the empty dining room chairs toppled over by itself.  Neither boy noticed.  Kurt waited patiently for Dave to wipe his eyes.  Finally, he continued.  “The street was busy; there were a bunch of cars going by.  I… I almost shoved him right into the road.  We were lucky; he slammed into our mailbox instead… nearly broke it off the post.  He… he had to go to the hospital.” Dave gulped down air.  “I had no idea what happened at first, but then, over the next few months… Stuff started moving all on its own, I’d wake up from a nightmare and my entire room would be a mess, and even though it seemed impossible, eventually it sunk in.  I knew.  I did that to Jack.” A shudder went through his burly form.  “He recovered okay.  I don’t _think_ he realized what happened, but… He stopped messing with me after that.  I should’ve been grateful, but… He also never wanted to be alone with me after that either.  We barely talked.  He looked at me different, like… like…” He shook his head.  “I don’t know… I just… I don’t want that to happen again.  It can’t.  I don’t think I’d be able to take it, I…”  He stared directly at Kurt, a stare so despairing and desperate that it nearly had the physical force of Dave’s power.  “Please don’t leave me,” he whispered.  “Please… I know it’s shitty to put all this on you, but you were right, I don’t have anyone else, and I don’t think I could handle…”

Kurt swallowed.  Truth be told, he’d had second thoughts, a lot of them.  But in the end… Damn his overdeveloped sense of compassion and responsibility. “I should be insulted at your lack of faith in me, David.  But I am going nowhere.” He laid his hand over one of Dave’s, resting on the table; Dave looked down, his face too blank for Kurt to make out a reaction.  “Nowhere,” he repeated.

It didn’t make much better, Kurt knew.  It wouldn’t heal Dave or banish all his fears.

But for now, it was enough.

* * *

  **Suspicion**

“What the hell is going on?”

Kurt shut his locker door to reveal Mercedes behind it, staring at him.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” he said with forced casualness, striding towards his next class.  Mercedes followed, matching him stride for stride.

“I _mean_ , things are weird around here lately, and you’re part of it.”

Kurt winced inwardly; if there was anyone who could’ve been able to sense something was up (besides perhaps Rachel or Finn, but they were too caught up in drama between each other), it was Mercedes.  If things had been different, if it weren’t for the sheer _insanity_ of Dave’s secret, he might, _might_ have been able to confide in her.  As it was, it was painful knowing that he had to keep her in the dark.  Necessary, but painful.  He’d hoped he was succeeding, but apparently not.  “I’m still not sure what you mean. Everything seems normal to me: the halls are full of cavemen, the glee club is full of drama…”

“See, there’s the thing… Nobody in the glee club’s been slushied for _days_.”  Kurt hadn’t _asked_ Dave to stop, but he had anyway… Then again, it was the least he could do, given everything Kurt was doing for him.  He had no idea how he’d gotten Azimio and his other friends to follow his lead, but Kurt wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.  “And you and Karofsky…”

Kurt nearly stumbled on his own feet, but managed to recover without skipping a beat.  “What about Karofsky?”

“You don’t think I’d noticed how he seemed to be zeroing in on you lately?” Mercedes snapped.  “I was gonna do something about it — maybe report it to Figgins or Coach Sylvester — but he stopped about a month ago.  Just like that!  I don’t think I’ve even _seen_ him in the halls for weeks! And that got me thinking.” Mercedes smoothly stepped in front of him; Kurt stopped short.  “I saw you two talking, Kurt.”

“And?” Kurt asked surprisingly evenly.  “Am I not allowed to talk to certain people?”

“It’s not that you’re not _allowed_ , but… _Why?_  Why on Earth would you be associating with _him_?”

“I’m sorry,” Kurt said, a tinge of coldness seeping into his voice, “but I didn’t know I needed to justify that to you.”

Mercedes groaned.  “It’s not like that, Kurt! It’s just that… you two seemed pretty chummy, and… Is he making you do something you don’t want to do? Because if he is—“

“ _Mercedes_.  I am fine.  He isn’t forcing me to do anything. I appreciate your concern, but I’d appreciate it if you’d just drop it.”

She threw up her hands. “Can you blame me? Just a month ago, he was bullying you — bullying almost every single one of us — and all of the sudden the two of you are best friends?  Tell me, with a straight face, that wouldn’t seem really strange to you if you were in my shoes.”

He couldn’t, and they both damn well knew it.  Kurt sighed.  “We’re not exactly best friends.”  Saying that stung more than he expected, but it was true.  They weren’t friends before, and they were kind of thrown together with little choice in the matter…  “If you really want an explanation, I had enough of the bullying.  Dav— Karofsky seemed to be at the center of a lot of it, so we’ve been talking.  I’m trying to humanize myself, and the rest of us, so he stops.  And he _has_ stopped, hasn’t he?” Mercedes raised a skeptical eyebrow; Kurt kicked himself inwardly for even hoping that would work.  He sighed again.  “Trust me to come to you if I have any real problems?” Of course, it was already a lie — he was already having real problems, trying to teach a teenage telekinetic to not rip apart a room with his mind when he was upset, and he had absolutely no idea if he was doing anything right.  Not that he could ever tell her that; not that he could tell _anyone_ that.  Ever.

In a way, he had become as isolated as Dave. And the hell of it was, he felt as though he had as little choice in the matter as Dave had.

For her part, Mercedes’ face softened.  After a long moment, she nodded, and silently opened her arms.  He gratefully walked into them, and the two embraced.  “Just be careful, okay?” she whispered in his ear.

Kurt could only nod, even as he knew that her concern was for completely the wrong person.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoping to update "Kept Close" sometime soon, BTW, once I get the time and discipline to crowd in everything I have to write...

**Apple**

"That’s it, Dave… Focus. Try channeling that feeling in your mind. Push it out into that rock, like you were actually physically touching it. Focus on what you want it to do and where you want it to go."

Dave huffed, his brow furrowing. The rock sailed through the air, splashing into the lake with a hollow “plunk.”

Kurt stared down at the radar gun he’d borrowed from Puck (having made special effort to _not_ to ask where he’d gotten it or why). “Holy…”

"What?" Dave strode over and looked over Kurt’s shoulder. His eyes bugged out. "Seriously? You sure that thing’s working right?"

Kurt shook his head. “We have to face facts: your power’s _that_ strong, David.” Going out into the wilderness had come from a stroke of inspiration on Kurt’s part: lots of open space, no prying eyes, no people or property to worry about damaging. It had been quite a bit of a drive, but worth every minute, now that they were able to test Dave’s abilities without fear of harm or discovery. Kurt shivered in the chill autumn winds, pulling his coat shut over his chest. “I guess we should count ourselves lucky that you’ve never done that with someone in th—” Kurt choked his words off, mentally browbeating himself for opening that door.

But Dave was already leaning against a tree, already long pale; the implications hadn’t been lost on him from the start. “I really could kill someone… I’m a goddamn menace, I’m a danger to everyone…”

There was a time, not so long ago, when Kurt would’ve readily agreed. But now? Funny how life could go. “Dave…”

"Why?" he wailed. "Why did I have to get stuck with this—? I never wanted this! I never wanted to have fucking powers! I never wanted to be g—" He shook his head; the trees were rustling, even with the winds still. "Why couldn’t I just have been normal?!"

"Being different…" Kurt swallowed, wondering if he should continue. But maybe, at this moment, being silent would be worse than anything he could possibly say. "I’ve always believed that being different was the best part about me. Maybe… maybe you can learn to accept it too."

Dave snorted. “Being different fucking sucks. You know that.”

Kurt nodded slowly. “It can suck. It can suck a lot.” It didn’t even enter his mind to remind Dave that he was part of the reason it did, at one point; Dave had already hashed through that himself over the past months, multiple times. Every time Kurt calmed him down from one of his telekinetic outbursts, every time Kurt soothed his fears and helped him face his worries, every time Kurt excitedly praised his painstaking progress in controlling his power, Dave would all but beg Kurt for forgiveness for his past bullying. Kurt graciously took it at first, but it soon became tiresome. It took a rather firm discussion bordering on ultimatum to get Dave to stop apologizing and accept Kurt’s forgiveness, but wisps of the old tension between them still floated in from time to time. Kurt continued to hope that talking about it, casually and openly when the situation required, would help ease it further. “But what’s the alternative? You know what happens if you try to suppress your power. It’s like every other issue: ignoring it just makes it worse. You’re you, and nothing can change that; we’ve both seen what happens when you try to force yourself to be something you’re not. The best thing you can do is accept it.”

"Yeah, sure. Accept that I could accidentally kill someone just by thinking about it… Or not thinking about it. How the hell am I supposed to accept _that_?”

 _Very good question._ It was one Kurt had been wrestling with for quite a while: the responsibility he was taking on himself. But he was thrown in neck deep before he ever got a chance to make a decision. That sucked, but he practiced what he preached: he accepted it. “By doing everything you can to keep it from happening. You have a responsibility to others, as well as yourself. This is what we’re here for; this is why you’re… we’re going to all this effort. Besides…” Kurt’s eyes twinkled. “Haven’t you ever considered the people you could help?”

"No!" A grin grew on Dave’s face. "Okay, fine, sometimes. I mean, I read comic books when I was a kid. I thought I could, like, save people from burning buildings or catch supervillains or crap like that. Maybe I would’ve even tried, if I could’ve controlled it…"

"And you never thought of robbing a bank or hurting people you didn’t like?"

"I…" Dave frowned. "Never did. Huh."

Kurt smiled gently. “So whenever you thought about using your power, you thought about using it to help people.”

Dave turned a deep crimson. A nearby branch crunched, even without anyone to step on it. “Shit, don’t make me out to be some kind of hero. I mean, I _still_ hurt people. I just didn’t use my power to do it.”

"Yes, you did hurt people. But my point is that it proves you’re at least capable of doing better and being better. What kind of person you really are, good or bad… That depends on your decisions from now on. I understand why you made the choices you made before, even if I don’t agree with them. But now I know you have a conscience. You have limits. Before, I couldn’t be disappointed in you, because I didn’t think you were capable of being anything but a stupid jock bully."

"Ouch." Kurt wasn’t sure which he was more surprised by: the humor in the word, or the agreement.

"I’m nothing if not brutally honest," Kurt said, trying to inject some levity into his tone. "And yes, I know you think you deserve it, so let’s move on. Ask yourself: why are you so worried about your power? It’s not because you’re afraid for yourself — it’s because of what you could do to others. That’s compassion, David, or at least empathy. Maybe you decided to ignore that empathy when you were trying to bury yourself in a stereotype, but now that you’ve rediscovered it, the best way to make up for your past is to not let yourself be that bully again. You’re not that guy anymore? Prove it. But I think you’re already demonstrating that it’s within your grasp."

There was a long silence, interrupted only by the lapping of water on the lake shore. Then it was interrupted by a gurgle from Kurt’s stomach.

Dave burst out laughing. Kurt tried to shoot him a glare, but the smirk on his lips ruined the effect. “I’m hungry, okay? We’ve been working all morning.”

“‘We’? I’m the one working out the power, dude. You’ve just been standing there ordering me around.”

"Touche. But being a trainer is exhausting too." He hoped that his mental exhaustion didn’t show; after all, as Dave said, he wasn’t the one with the power. "We should think about getting lunch soon. I’m starv—" He stopped short as a large, ripe apple appeared hovering in front of his face. It took Kurt a moment to get his voice back. "What, now you’re an apple conjurer? That’s a much lamer power than telekinesis." Dave laughed, pointing upward, at the fruit-pocked wild apple tree he was leaning against. "Oh." Kurt reached out and plucked the apple out of the air. He bit into it with a wet crunch, the juice filling his mouth and dribbling down his lower lip. "Mm, I think we’ve found the perfect training ground: isolation, space, and free food." He paused as he swallowed. "Thank you," he said quietly.

Dave just nodded. “That’s, like, the least I can do.” And Kurt couldn’t disagree. But at the same time… It was progress. He would never be against progress.

* * *

**Overcompensating**

Kurt jumped at the loud crash of an open hand against a locker door. He spun around. Mike Hammond, McKinley basketball player, sneered at him.

"Hey, Hummel. You’re looking really fruity today."

Kurt tried to draw himself up, but even with his growth spurt of recent years, Hammond (being a basketball player) still towered over him. Not that a little thing like a height difference would stop him; he was frankly sick of high school power plays. There was so much in the world that warranted actual attention, and this was definitely not one of them. “How lovely of you to notice. Like what you see? Maybe you should be asking yourself why you spend so much time checking me out.”

Hammond’s lips twitched, but otherwise he didn’t seem to react. “You’re the faggiest chick in this school. It’s kind of hard not to notice.”

"Ah, yes, I’m a girl because I care what I look like. Maybe if you cared a little more about your appearance, you wouldn’t have to beg actual girls for table scraps."

Hammond glared; Kurt stared back coolly. He had a sadly encyclopedic knowledge of McKinley’s bullies. Hammond wasn’t the physical type — taunts and nasty but empty threats were more his speed, so he had no concerns about retaliation. “You’re gonna burn in hell, queer.”

"And if God existed, maybe that would mean something." By now, a small crowd was gathering, but neither of them noticed or cared. Hammond was bound and determined to get the last word in, and Kurt… After everything he’d seen, done, and been through, especially in the past weeks, jerks like Hammond were just tiresome small potatoes. An irritant, really, a week old mosquito bite. He didn’t have the mental space or the desire to give this worm any more attention than he deserved.

"Someday, Hummel… Someday, when you don’t have Finn Hudson and that stupid glee club of yours around…"

Kurt yawned in Hammond’s face. More pointless bluster. “Excuse me, I must’ve not gotten enough sleep last night. I have a class to go to, so if you’ll just step aside…”

Hammond slammed his fist into the locker next to Kurt’s head. His only reaction was to smirk a little at the wince of pain that the basketball player unsuccessfully tried to keep off his face. “So help me, if you say another _fucking_ word, I’m gonna stomp your head into the floor, and everyone — _everyone_ — is gonna cheer me on while I do it. I’m gonna knock your teeth out and…”

Kurt’s attention wandered as Hammond’s continued ranting became a background buzzing noise. Searching the crowd for someone from the glee club — he wanted to bounce off some ideas for his Sectionals solo outfit — he spotted Dave near the back. His face was a mask of rage, an expression that was at once familiar and completely foreign, for it wasn’t directed at _him_ for once. From the looks of it, Dave was breathing through clenched teeth, a vein in his forehead nearly popping, and…

Uh oh.

Kurt opened his mouth to shout some kind of warning when some florescent lights above them exploded in a shower of glass and sparks. Students screamed and ran for cover as a second set blew up, then a third and a fourth. The air was choked with smoke and a chemical smell; the only ones left in the hall were Kurt, Dave, and a cowering Mike Hammond. Hammond slowly lifted his head; his face was covered in bright red scratches. “Shit…” he rasped.

But he was irrelevant. Kurt whirled towards Dave. He was open-mouthed, pale. Kurt was only conscious of the silence when it was broken; classroom doors flung open, and curious and chattering faces peeked out to see what was happening. Coach Sylvester appeared out of nowhere, shouting for windows to be opened, students to return to their rooms, and ranting something about lowest bidders.

In the middle of the sudden tumult, Dave turned and sprinted down the hall. Kurt ignored an approaching and concerned-looking Tina and ran after him.

He finally caught up near the football bleachers, where a trembling Dave was sitting at the base of a tree, hugging his chest tightly. “I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry…” There was no overt physical sign of his upset, except maybe the bleachers rattling, and that could’ve been the wind.

"Dave?" Kurt asked softly. "David, are you all right?"

Dave’s breath caught audibly in his throat as he looked up at Kurt. “He made me so mad,” he whispered. “He was getting in your face and threatening you like I used to and I hated him and I just wanted him to _leave_ _you_ _alone_ …”

"Dave, I’m okay. _He’s_ okay. He’s just a little shaken up, you didn’t hurt him…”

"I could have!" Dave screeched, his fingers digging into his own face so deeply that Kurt almost reached out to rip them away. "I almost did! What if next time—"

"Next time you’ll remember what happened this time," Kurt said firmly, with almost preternatural calm that even he didn’t know the origin of. "Next time you’ll be that much better at controlling your power. Next time you’ll be able to keep your emotions from making you do things you don’t want to do. I know you’re scared. I know this is a setback. But even when you were lost in anger, remember: you didn’t toss a locker at his head or throw him out a window. You just scared the hell out of him. Remember that."

Dave’s face was skeptical, but at least his breathing was slowing down. He shook his head in wonder. “Why…” He coughed, and had to start again. “Why aren’t you afraid of me?”

"Been there, done that. Got tired of it, remember?" Kurt joked weakly. He sighed and continued. "I’m not afraid of you because I’ve been doing a lot of thinking and reading, and I have a little theory. I don’t think your powers are quite as out of control as we thought at first. I think you have some kind of loose _instinctual_ control… That’s why you haven’t caused any major damage or injuries since your power first manifested, even when we _know_ you’re more than capable of it, even when you’re asleep or angry. If I’m right, you’re already a good way there. All we have to do is switch that control to your conscious mind, and we’ve done it.”

Dave seemed to ponder that for a moment. “You make it sound so easy.”

 _What choice do I have?_ Kurt almost said, echoing words that had come to him many times since that fateful afternoon. _What else can I cling to? Even if I’m wrong, I’m already in too deep; I can’t get myself out even if I tried. Running now would just make everything worse for everyone. But the more_ you _believe it, the more likely it is to come true…_ But of course, he didn’t say that. “Oh, it’s not easy. But nothing worth doing ever is. You think I was born with an instinct for performing and fashion far beyond my years?” He paused for effect. “Fine, I was, but back to my point…”

Dave chuckled weakly, a huge victory in of itself. “Okay, I get it, you’re awesome.” He thought about something for a moment before he spoke again. “But… you really think I can…?”

"As I keep telling you, I won’t lie to you. I think it’s possible, and I think you’ve already made a lot of progress." Kurt joined Dave under the tree, wincing only slightly at the thought of what the grass was doing to his new pants. "And… thank you."

Dave blinked. “For what?”

"For trying to get Mike Hammond to leave me alone, even if it was the wrong way to do it. From bully to protector of the bullied; quite a change for such a short time."

"Yeah, well, when you’re spending most of your free time trying to control runaway psychic powers, being top dog at school seems kind of stupid, y’know? Besides… you’ve done so much for me, even when I don’t deserve it… I can’t go back to the way I was, even if I wanted to. Especially not towards you."

There was a silence that could only be described as “kind of awkward,” at least on Kurt’s part. Not knowing what else to say or do, he clapped a painfully “bro”-like hand on Dave’s shoulder. “We should get back. Fortunately, it sounds like what happened will be blamed on defective light bulbs. But keep practicing your meditation and anger management. We don’t want a repeat.”

"Aye aye, professor." Dave grinned at Kurt’s snort.

* * *

**Coming Out**

"I’m g—… I’m g-guh…"

Kurt rolled his eyes. “It’s two words, David. Two syllables. You can say it.”

"I… I’m…" The short and simple word came out much more drawn out than it should have. Dave shook his head. "Why _do_ I have to say it, anyway? Shouldn’t we be working on my control or something?”

"We are," Kurt replied crisply. "Being in the closet, being unable to accept this part of yourself, is a big source of stress for you. If you’re going to control your power, you have to relieve stress. QED."

"QE…?" Dave shook his head again. "Whatever. It’s just…"

"What?"

"You wouldn’t understand. You’ve never been in the closet."

Kurt drew himself up straight. “And what’s _that_ supposed to mean?!”

Dave, the big burly football player with powerful telekinetic abilities, cowered under the glare of a normal teenager half his size — but that was just proof he was sane. “I just mean…! You’re kinda… Kinda…”

"Swishy?" Kurt supplied coldly, crossing his arms. "Effeminate? _Stereotypical_?”

"Well… yeah," Dave said meekly.

"Maybe I do fit into some of the straight world’s stereotypes, but that does _not_ mean I fit them all. That does _not_ mean I am not an individual. Besides… you’re wrong. I _was_ in the closet, for years.”

"To who?!" Dave burst out. Another glare immediately sent him cowering again.

"To the most important person of all, of course: myself. I was in denial, I tried to be straight." Kurt glared once more, daring Dave to find such efforts funny or futile. But surprise, surprise, the jock could learn; he stayed serious and silent. "You’re right about one thing, though: maybe I don’t know what it’s like to pass as straight. Maybe I don’t know what it’s like to have people just assume that I like girls and never think otherwise. That adds complications that I probably couldn’t begin to imagine. But at its core, our struggles are the same. I know what it’s like to want to be normal. I know what it’s like to be afraid of losing the people I love. Don’t _ever_ think I can’t understand that.”

Dave nodded. “My mom’s a big church person. Our pastor keeps telling us about how gays need to be turned straight with love and understanding.” He sucked in a pained breath. “I think if they knew what I can do… They might think I’m possessed.”

Kurt winced. “Then you definitely made the right choice, trusting me. In the middle of the irrational, a little rationality is exactly what’s called for.” He gently turned Dave by the shoulders so they were looking each other in the eyes. “You do trust me, don’t you?”

"Yeah," Dave replied without hesitation.

"You know I’m going to be the last person who’ll judge you."

"Yeah," he said, again immediately.

"And you acknowledge that you like guys?"

There was more hesitation this time — a lot more. Finally, a nod. “Yeah. I guess it’d be stupid to deny it anymore.”

Kurt’s chest puffed up in pride. Kurt Hummel, positive gay influence… He liked that a _lot_. “Then you’re already almost there in accepting it.” He locked onto Dave’s gaze. “This is important, David. This is a big first step, and I understand that it’s hard for you, but it’s one you have to take.” His voice became gentler. “It’s okay. It’s just the two of us. You don’t have to come out to anyone else until you’re ready, but you need to be honest with yourself. Just say it.”

Dave fidgeted, and Kurt tried to wait patiently. He meant it when he said that he understood; he knew that just saying the words wouldn’t change anything, but they’d change _everything_. Dave was telekinetic, not telepathic, but Kurt was rooting for him in his mind all the same. He never imagined he’d have a chance like this to watch a fellow gay man come out of his cocoon and become a fabulous butterfly… It was more exciting than he could’ve ever hoped. Finally, after long minutes, he could see Dave’s shoulders and chest rise. Kurt’s ears perked, and he leaned forward ever so slightly in anticipation.

"I’m…" _Come on… Come on already.._. “I’m gay.” The words came out in a rush, in the midst of what sounded almost like a sigh of relief. Kurt tried to keep the silly grin off his face, but failed completely. Dave blinked. “I’m gay,” he repeated in a kind of breathless wonder.

"How do you feel?"

Dave paused, as if mentally taking stock. “I thought I’d be… I dunno what I thought. I guess… kinda relieved? But mostly… I feel pretty much the same.”

Kurt nodded, smiling. “And that’s the point.”

"Huh?"

"You’ll get it someday soon. But I’m really proud of you, you know."

"Seriously?" And was he blushing now?

"Seriously. I told you, I know how difficult that was for you. It gives me more confidence that we’ll— _you’ll_ get a handle on this thing.”

Dave rubbed the back of his head, now definitely red. “Shit, uh… Sorry. It’s been a while since someone said they were proud of me…” Kurt felt a lump in his throat, even as a look of abiding sadness flashed over Dave’s face. “But I guess that’s mostly my fault,” he said softly.

 _Time to get him off that line of thought._ “Well, that just means you have a lot more chances to hear it in the future, and not just from me.” Kurt clapped his hands in delight at his sudden realization. “Ooh, I get to be a _gay_ mentor too! I’ve always wanted to make over a hopeless case…”

"What the fuck does that mean, Hummel?" Dave cried in not entirely serious outrage.

"Really, David? Do you even _look_ in any mirrors? After our next practice session, it’s straight to the mall! I think we’ll start with color coordination…”

Dave groaned.

* * *

**Warming Up  
**

Kurt ducked as a rain of snowballs pelted against the fallen tree he was using as cover with a series of soft “paff”s. “Hey! No fair!”

Dave laughed, raising both fists straight into the air. “Hah! Should’ve thought of that before! King of the snowball fight, baby! I guess this fucking power had to be good for _something_!” Kurt peeked over the tree; his mind barely registered the cluster of snowballs floating in midair in front of Dave before he ducked back down again, barely avoiding the flurry.

Kurt muttered under his breath as snow got under his coat; he reminded himself that this had been _his_ stupid idea. “Come on, Dave, give it a try,” he said to himself venomously. “You can exercise your power and have a little fun at the same time. Isn’t that just a _great_ idea? Hmph. Brilliant, Hummel.” But still… Hummels never went down without a fight. He formed a snowball, barely feeling the cold seeping through his mittens. “Just one quick strike is all I need. Just jump up, throw, and duck back down again. All right… One… two… three!” He jumped to his feet… and was immediately splattered with a series of snowballs. He sputtered, wiping the ice from his face and enduring Dave’s hysterical laughter. “You’re getting better,” he said as evenly as he could. He probably completely failed to preserve what little dignity he had left, but at least he tried.

"Surrender, Hummel?" Dave smirked with that swaggering jock arrogance that was all too familiar. Nowadays, though, it barely registered in Kurt’s mind; in fact, the hint of old normalcy was actually weirdly comforting.

"Surrender," he said wryly. "Let’s adjourn for a hot drink. I need to warm up."

Forty minutes later, the two teenagers sat down at the Lima Bean, steaming cups in hand. Dave’s eyes were flickering about, as if looking for familiar faces around them. Kurt suppressed an eye roll. Considering how much Dave’s reputation had suffered once he ceased becoming the scourge of McKinley’s hallways, being seen in public with Kurt probably couldn’t damage it any further. In fact, it was almost strange how quickly and easily Dave had slipped into anonymity. He refused to talk about it, but it seemed as though he’d lost all his friends. Where once Dave had to sweat and work to free up time to meet up with Kurt, now he appeared to be available at practically any time Kurt chose. The only explanation Dave would make about the whole thing was something along the lines of “I don’t really get along with anyone anymore.” He never gave any further detail, but Kurt had the feeling that stopping the bullying alone (not to mention whatever he’d had to do to get his pals to leave the glee club alone — not even the glee club jocks knew what had gone down) would’ve done the trick. But add in Dave’s still growing power…

Feeling isolated and inhuman… Definitely not conductive to Dave’s mental health — or Kurt’s own, for that matter. Kurt had long since resigned himself to being Dave’s sole lifeline when it came to his power, but he had no desire to be a crutch either. So it was that Kurt sipped at his mocha and finally spoke. “Actually, I had a bit of an ulterior motive in this trip. I’d like to have a ‘get to know you’ session.”

“‘Get to know you session’?”

Kurt nodded. “Considering how closely we’ve been working together all these months, we don’t know each other all that well. I think the better we get to know each other, the better we’ll be able to communicate and the more we can get done. How about this: we each take turns telling the other something that they don’t know about ourselves.”

Dave wrinkled his nose. “Sounds like one of those lame counseling things Ms. Pillsbury would come up with.”

"Please, Dave, work with me a little. I need _something_ to preserve a little sanity here.” Kurt nearly breathed in his coffee. _Shit_. He hadn’t meant to say that out loud, but it was an unfortunate fact that all this dealing with Dave’s power, and the accompanying collapse of his materialist beliefs, had been messing with his sense of reality. It made everything else — homework, glee club drama, even his own father’s wedding — kind of pale in comparison. He, like Dave, _needed_ to feel human, needed to ground himself and his weird… relationship with Dave in _something_ other than intangible “impossibilities” like telekinesis. But the absolute last thing Dave needed was another reason to feel guilty, another reason to feel like his very existence was ruining Kurt’s life.

So Kurt’s heart sank when Dave’s reaction was the one he most feared: a sad and resigned nod. “Okay. I’ll do whatever you want.”

"Stop that," Kurt snapped. "I’m not trying to train a doormat. Do _not_ abase yourself thinking it’ll make up for bullying me and my friends. It won’t.” He let that sink in, deliberately letting Dave’s face fall. “The only thing that will is taking me seriously as a person _now_ , and that’s what I’m trying to accomplish here — both ways.”

Dave raised both eyebrows. “Huh?”

"I confess that I’ve never taken you seriously as a person either. Now that I have to, I want a solid foundation on which to do it. And I’m _certain_ there’s more than enough there in you to form that foundation — I’ve told you that over and over, and frankly, I’m getting a little tired of waiting for you to believe it. Maybe if you give me more of an idea of who you really are, you’ll listen to yourself while you’re doing it and you’ll stop thinking of yourself as my pity case. All right?”

Dave crossed his arms as he sat back in his chair, staring at Kurt with an odd look. If he had to take a guess, he would’ve interpreted it as a war between “he’s right” and “I’m still a freak that doesn’t deserve help, especially when I keep dragging others down with me.” After long moments, during which at least two other tables recycled occupants, during which Kurt was starting to buckle under the urge to check his phone or do _something_ other than wait, Dave spoke. “Does it have to be heavy important shit?”

Kurt let out a relieved sigh before he could stop himself. “No, not at all. Like I said, the goal is for us to get a better handle on each other. If you want heavy and important, that’s fine. If you want trivial, that’s fine too. Here, I’ll start: my first crush I can remember was Brad Pitt. I saw a promo photo of him shirtless for _Fight Club_ in one of my mom’s magazines, and he just took my breath away.”

Dave chuckled. “Um… I actually kind of don’t care much about football. I just joined because of Az. I’d rather go back to hockey.”

"Huh. Well, I secretly love Hong Kong action movies. My grandfather got me hooked on them when I was twelve."

"I used to build model airplanes. I kinda ran out of time when I started high school, but I miss it."

"My dream Broadway role is Peter Pan."

"I’ve always wanted to own a classic car — a Chevy or a Plymouth. When I get money, that’s the first thing I’m gonna buy."

"Sometimes I think about how much Rachel Berry and I are alike, and it scares me."

Dave grinned. “I’d be scared too. Lessee… I still watch the Pokemon cartoon.” Kurt wasn’t sure what he looked like at that moment to make Dave bristle. “What? It’s fucking hilarious. And Pikachu’s badass.”

"I won’t argue." Kurt paused in thought. "If I’m still in Lima after next year, I’ll consider my entire life a failure."

"You and me both," Dave said quietly. "Sometimes I can’t figure out what I really like, and what I’ve pretended to like for so long that I just _think_ I like it.”

"My dad loves me unconditionally, but that doesn’t mean he understands me or doesn’t wish I was different." Kurt nearly gasped; what kind of perverse rhythm had he fallen into to say _that_? He wasn’t even sure the thought had even formed in his mind before he said it. Guilt welled up within him, even as he tried desperately to figure out a way that it wasn’t the truth. He failed.

Dave blinked. “Okay… wow. Uh… I could’ve skipped pre-calc, but I messed up a couple of questions on the placement test on purpose so I wouldn’t feel like even more of a freak.”

Kurt’s lips pursed. “I think… I think that’s enough for now.” He could sense that somehow, they were starting to burrow into deep territory — perhaps too deep for such an early stage — with a speed that was frankly startling. He suspected that sharing such a huge secret with Dave greased the rails significantly. “Thank you for sharing with me, Dave. I really do think it’ll help us.”

"If you say so." By now, Kurt’s coffee was cold; he suspected Dave’s was too. He knew he should’ve felt better about this whole thing — now he had the definite sense that he and Dave had traveled much more similar roads than he’d thought. They both felt the pressures of conformity in society, were both more well rounded than a casual viewer would think, were both groping and yearning for something better in life… But at the same time, like Dave’s power, the realization had elements of both blessing and burden.

They silently disposed of their cups, silently gathered their coats, and silently trudged towards the door, stepping out into the biting cold air. Kurt was sure they were going to part silently, not even coordinating their next training session, until Dave called out, “Hey.” Kurt turned, and Dave actually had a small half-smile on his face. “If you wanna do the snowball fight again next time, I promise I’ll only toss one at a time.”

Kurt had to laugh. “I’m going to hold you to that.” He waved farewell as they walked to their cars, and somehow, he suddenly felt better about this whole suspect arrangement than he had all afternoon.


	3. Chapter 3

**Lunch With Friends**

"So, uh… What’s the deal with Karofsky?"

The name immediately snapped Kurt out of his dilemma on whether to dare another forkful of what the cafeteria called beef stroganoff. He dropped the mess of overcooked noodles and much too brown sauce and looked up. The asker of the question was Sam Evans, which made sense, all things considered; he was still the “new kid,” with less sense of the players and dynamics of McKinley. He wore an earnestly puzzled look, turning from dining companion to dining companion, as if searching each for an answer. Said dining companions, for their part, merely stared blankly or continued their focus on their food.

"What about him?" Mike asked.

"Is it just me, or has he totally changed in the past couple of months? I mean, he used to get along with a bunch of guys on the football team, but now, he doesn’t talk to anyone and nobody talks to him anymore except Coach. He used to be this big bully, but now it’s like he’s disappeared, and I just thought it was weird…"

"He’s not worthy of your attention," Rachel said primly; a surge of unreasonable offense on Kurt’s part was tempered with the realization that he would’ve, and did, thought the same just months ago. It wasn’t even that he had a bad reason for doing so, and the vast majority of the time, he would’ve been more than right not to bother. It was all retrospect. But all the reason in the world failed to make him feel one jot better. "If you want to contribute to New Directions, you should concentrate on your craft."

"See, that’s just what I mean," Sam persisted. "What’s the deal? Why isn’t anyone the least bit curious?"

"He was shitty to us long before you came around, okay?" Puck said. "He and Azimio were shitty to all of us ever since the glee club became something. Of course we don’t care."

"So what about the others? If he and Azimio are friends, then why…?"

"They stopped talking to him after Karofsky started leaving us alone," Finn said with a shrug through a disgusting mouthful of meat.

"He doesn’t have to live through what he put us through," Artie chimed in. "So he’s actually getting off easy."

Kurt had never bitten his tongue so hard in his life.

The table seemed ready to drop the subject, but Sam still looked puzzled. “So why’d he stop, then?”

"His dick fell off. Who knows or cares?" Puck shrugged. "He’s an asshole. End of story."

"Like you can talk." It was only when everyone turned towards him that Kurt was even conscious that he’d said something aloud. _Damn_.

"What do you mean?" Sam asked.

Well, at least now Kurt had the excuse of being asked. Time to get an old issue off his chest. “Oh, of course, you never told him what kind of things you happily did to us before you joined, did you, Puck? The dumpster tosses? The porta-potty lock-ins? The pee balloons?” Sam wrinkled his nose as Puck’s eyes widened. “Hell, Mr. Puckerman there was a _very_ enthusiastic Slushie slinger in his day.”

"Hey!" Puck bristled. "I don’t do any of that anymore, okay? And I said I was sorry—"

"Actually," Kurt said flatly, "you never apologized to me."

"Or me!" Artie said, glaring at Puck with sudden outrage.

"Or me!" Rachel declared.

"Or me," Finn said in a tone that shouted with its quietness.

"You waltzed into our safe space and expected us to welcome you with open arms because you’d seen the light," Kurt continued. "Well, you were right, but maybe we should’ve expected more. Expected better."

Now the entire table was staring at one young man. Puck, to his immense credit, actually looked stricken. It was a long moment before he spoke. “I’m sorry.” There was an actual gasp from one of the girls; Kurt didn’t see who — he was too busy with his own surprise. Puck’s eyes were serious, intense. “I was shitty to you guys, and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done any of it, and I’m the luckiest guy on Earth that you all forgave me.” In the midst of the cafeteria tumult, there was an abiding silence. Artie nodded appreciatively, while Quinn looked thoughtful. Puck, of course, was the one to break the mood he made. “But seriously, can we get back on topic? Karofsky’s just a douche, okay? He’s never apologized either, and he never fucking will.”

"Have you given him a chance to?" Kurt asked.

"Well, no, but why should—" Puck squinted. "Wait. Why are you defending the guy?"

Kurt’s heart seized. He forced every bit of neutrality and evenness into his tone that he could as he responded, “What do you mean?”

"I mean what I said. Why are you defending the guy?"

"Kurt _is_ the only reason why I even know Karofsky’s first name,” Sam remarked.

Tina blinked. “You’ve been calling Karofsky by his first name? When?”

"Yeah, Kurt," Mercedes said with even more bluntness than usual. "What _is_ up?”

"I don’t—"

"C’mon, Twinkie," Santana drawled. "You got something on him? Spill."

"Ooh, there’s blackmail?" Artie asked much too eagerly. "Is there blackmail involved?"

"I’m not—"

"Is it something we can use too?"

"Is it dirty? Ooh, does he have some kink that—"

Kurt slammed his palms onto the tabletop. He was never quite sure why he said what he ended up saying — most likely, though, it was a lot of stress and frustration and tension and worry that just boiled over and forced the words off his tongue. “I’m training him to control his telekinetic powers so he doesn’t go insane and try to take over the world, all right?!” he barked.

There was a moment of silence. Then Puck made a face. “Dude, if you don’t want to tell us, just say so.”

"Actually," Artie cut in in a professorial tone, "the preferred term is ‘psychokinetic’."

"Well, Karofsky’s a psycho all right," Quinn said acidly.

"I don’t think he has the brains to move anything with his mind," Santana sneered.

Kurt stood, grabbing up his tray. “Kurt?” Finn asked tentatively.

"I have something I need to do," he said in a voice so tense that even he could hear the wires thrumming in it.

"Kurt?" Mercedes echoed.

"I’ll see you all at practice." With that, he turned away from the table, dumped his mostly uneaten lunch into a trash bin, and stalked out before he could do or say something else he’d regret.

As the cafeteria grew more distant behind him (without anyone chasing after him, thank God), and his mind calmed, he began wondering why he’d reacted that poorly — so poorly that practically none of them could’ve failed to notice. But at the same time, the answer was pretty plain.

It was because they’d insulted Dave.

Kurt exhaled, finding a convenient bench in a quiet corner and throwing himself down upon it. He hadn’t really had a lot of time and energy to think about the weird relationship he and Dave had. It was like mentor/student, only the mentor didn’t have much more knowledge than the student, except for the gay part, which really _was_ like mentor/student, and…

Maybe… Just maybe…

He and Dave were friends?

Kurt shook his head. If that were so, then it was certainly an odd friendship, to say the least. He’d heard of people becoming “fire forged friends” before, but he seriously doubted that any such friendship in the history of mankind was forged in a crucible quite like theirs. Certainly, it became harder to hate Dave — harder to think of him as some kind of, well, monster — once they got to know each other, and he certainly seemed like someone _worth_ knowing, and even if Kurt was usually too exhausted to really _enjoy_ their time together, he certainly didn’t find it _torture_ …

Huh. Maybe they really were friends.

He idly wondered whether Dave thought of him as a friend. Maybe he’d ask the next time they got together for training.

Or maybe not. That’d be pretty damn awkward. But then, what about this entire situation wasn’t?

He sighed as he got to his feet. Well, this was one more to add to the list of Dave-related secrets he’d be keeping. But then, Dave had sincerely apologized for his past bullying. They actually seemed to have at least a few things in common besides _the_ secret. He was making a genuine effort to be a better and more open person, and he actually seemed to not mind Kurt’s company.

Kurt knew he could do far worse for friends.

* * *

**Special Education**

"Dave, why are you doing that?"

Dave opened his eyes in annoyance. “Doing what?”

"The whole arm thing. Isn’t that a little… comic book-y?"

Actually, Kurt was relieved to be back to Dave’s training — it was the least stress he’d had the entire week. Sectionals had somehow ended with a tie with the Dalton Academy Warblers, despite his masterful solo. Of course, he should’ve known that would happen; after all, he’d managed to avoid Blaine the entire evening, so _of course_ fate would throw them together again at Regionals. From the glances they’d shared from across the stage, he could tell that Blaine was wondering what was going on with him. He’d at least had the decency to take the hint after all the ignored texts, but given a chance to ask in person, he doubted Blaine could resist.

Then again, what was he so worried about? Couldn’t he just… _lie_ to Blaine, like he was lying to practically everyone else in his life (oh, God, was that actually what he was really doing? It was…)? Well, he very well could, but it would be… different with Blaine, more difficult than with anyone besides his father. They’d shared a rapport of a kind, a connection… For the first time, Kurt was able to talk to someone who actually _knew_ what it was like to be a gay teenager in a small town, to face the challenges and fears he had to face every day.

Of course, that was before he knew there was another… with even _more_ problems than he had.

At any rate, Kurt just couldn’t go back to Blaine; with that rapport, with that connection, he feared that Blaine would be able to tell that he was holding something back, would try to pressure him to reveal more… Kurt couldn’t take that risk — not that he’d tell, but that he’d suffer even more stress than he already was. His sleep and grooming were already suffering under the multiple pressures: school, glee club, his dad’s wedding, Dave’s training… His efforts in all but the first and last had already undergone a definite slip in quality, and the only reason his schoolwork hadn’t joined them was that McKinley was already a pretty sad example of the state of the American public education system.

Kurt was always driven, but God, there were _limits_ , even for him.

But now wasn’t the time to think about himself. It was time, Kurt had already decided, to test the upper limits of Dave’s power. Every session, they sought out something to lift, increasing its probable weight step by step, day by day. So far, Dave had been lifting with minimal difficulty (“It makes sense; I mean, if I can lift it with my arms, I can probably lift it with my mind, right?”). On this particular day, they found a large rock by the lakeside that was easily over 300 pounds (or, Kurt snidely remarked, about the size of the average American), Dave’s biggest challenge yet. Kurt sat on a log and watched as Dave set himself in front of the rock, back straight and feet firmly planted as taught, then closed his eyes and lifted his arm, reaching out towards it. That’s when he asked his question.

"It helps me focus on what I’m supposed to focus on," Dave said. "That _is_ what I’m supposed to be doing, right? It’s kinda hard to aim with my eyes closed if I don’t.”

"Then why do you close your eyes?"

"It helps me concentrate," came the snappish reply. "Shuts out distractions. That a good enough reason for you, _sir_?”

Kurt raised his arms in a “no harm, no foul” gesture. “As long as you have a good reason that works for you, that’s all I ask.” Dave huffed and turned back to the rock, closing his eyes again and holding out his arm. “Focus your will on that rock, Dave. Channel that force in your head directly into it. Picture what you want it to do, if it helps.”

"Yeah, yeah," Dave muttered under his breath. For the sake of his concentration, Kurt let it slide, keeping his watch on the rock. He heard Dave take a deep inhale through his nose. Dave’s shoulders rolled back, and his entire body seemed to tighten. Then things happened.

First came a soft grinding sound — the sound of something solid shifting against the pebbled earth. Then the rock visibly moved, leaning away from the two young men, exposing a dirt-clodded bottom long hidden from the sun. Dave’s brow furrowed, his breath deepened; slowly, achingly, the rock gently rose. Kurt held his breath until there was visible light leaking between it and the ground. Unlike his previous, casual exercises, Dave’s face was a mask of concentration as the rock levitated two feet off the ground, then three. Kurt felt himself rise from his seat as he watched.

"David…" he said softly, "open your eyes."

Slowly, carefully, he did. The rock did drop a little, but easily within Kurt’s tolerances. An awed smile spread over Dave’s face. “Cool,” he breathed.

Kurt put on his game face, wiping out his own smile. “All right, now we’re going to figure out how much concentration you need to maintain use of your power. We’re going to talk, and we’ll see how long it takes for you to get tired or distracted. Okay?”

"You’re the boss," Dave said in a somewhat strained voice, his gaze only slightly wavering from the suspended rock.

"And don’t you forget it." Kurt sat back down; no sense in _both_ of them being uncomfortable, after all. “So… How is it feeling so far?”

"Uh… Okay for now, I guess? I have to actually pay attention, or I know the thing’ll drop. It’s like… You’re taking the SATs, only if you skip a question, you can’t go back? You need that kinda concentration." He shook his head; the rock wavered, and his attention snapped back, as did the rock. "It’s really hard to describe. I’ve got no idea if I’m doing it right."

Kurt nodded. “I expect you’d have to experience it to really understand.”

"Yeah. I mean, I’m just pouring the power in, and I still feel like there’s more, that I can hold it up longer. Where the fuck is it coming from, anyway?"

"Within you, obviously. I guess you’re stronger than either of us gave you credit for." Dave gave a half snicker, half snort. "I’m being serious! Confidence is the key here, you know; you could stand to be a little more like the way you acted before: arrogant and ready to take on the world."

"Except for the whole ‘push around anyone you can get away with’ thing, right?"

"Of course. Anyway, if you don’t like that, then maybe it’s coming from all the practice we’ve been doing. That’s the reason we’ve been doing it, after all. Maybe after a few more months, it’ll be even easier."

Dave said nothing, but the rock trembled once more. Kurt waited patiently, watching the rock’s gentle, almost hypnotic swaying, for a long minute before Dave finally spoke. “I don’t know if I want it to,” he said, voice almost as shaky as the rock.

"Do what? Get easier?"

"Yeah." Dave swallowed; the rock inched slightly closer to the ground. "I know that sounds crazy when I was just destroying shit uncontrollably before, but… At least then it was kind of easier to ignore. In between the times I’d just wreck everything, I could pretend I was normal, that I didn’t have any powers. But if I get good… I mean, really good… Then I’ll have to… deal with it, you know?" His voice became small, and the rock sank further. "And I dunno if I can…"

"If you couldn’t, then I think one or both of us would’ve given up a long time ago." Kurt paused; the rock was now only about a foot and a half off the ground. "So you never practiced like this before on your own? Ever?"

Dave shook his head. “I was afraid I’d go out of control again if I tried. Besides, I didn’t want to be reminded of being a freak. But the thing is… I’m really fucking sick of being afraid.”

Kurt nodded. “It’s an exhausting way to live, isn’t it? Look at it this way: you’re finally taking responsibility for yourself. You’re doing something proactive to keep yourself from hurting others. You’re acknowledging who you really are and letting your conscience guide you instead of your fear.”

A bead of sweat rolled down Dave’s forehead, spreading into his right eyebrow. “A-are you talking about my bullying or my power?”

"Does it have to be one or the other?"

Dave didn’t answer. His arm began trembling. The rock shifted lower and lower. Finally, with a grunt, Dave’s arm dropped to his side, and the rock dropped with it, landing with a muffled thump. Dave stumbled over his own feet as if dizzy. He just managed to right himself in time, leaning against a tree. He was breathing heavily. “Man… That was worse than Beiste’s two-a-days.” He sank towards the ground, panting.

Kurt stood; Dave waved, and he sat again. “Are you all right…?”

"Yeah, just tired, s’all."

"Other than tired, how do you feel?"

Dave paused for a moment, then looked up at Kurt with a trembling jaw. “I… I can feel it, Kurt. The power… It’s already building up inside me again…” Eyes blinking rapidly, he curled up in on himself again, for the first time in weeks. “I almost fucking drained myself of it, and it’s already coming back…” His eyes began to shine with moisture. “Holy fuck, Kurt,” he whispered, “what the fuck am I…?”

Kurt wished to God he had an answer that would help.

* * *

**A Very Glee Christmas**

Although he was an atheist, Kurt always had a certain appreciation for Christmas. Like Renaissance art, it had long ago transcended its religious origins, becoming a season he could appreciate for its secular qualities: peace on Earth, goodwill towards men.

Besides, it had always been his mom’s favorite time of year.

The holidays further held even more that was welcome: a new home, a new family, and finally, a blessed blessed break. He and Dave agreed that a Christmas break on training was well-earned by them both, so Kurt was relaxing on the couch, with a cup of hot cocoa, the scattered remains of a whirlwind of gift-opening still lying about on the floor, and what was he doing?

Planning how to further hone Dave’s control.

He groaned softly, letting his head loll against the back of the couch. Of course, it was only natural that he was a little obsessed with Dave’s power: it was unusual and amazing and fascinating. It was a puzzle, a mystery — and Kurt loved mysteries. Plus, he considered himself a decent person, deep down; Dave needed help, and he was the only person Dave could trust to give it. How could he ignore that and live with himself?

And if he had to be completely honest, he also got a thrill out of knowing something no one else in the world knew, and out of being someone that someone else had to depend on. He felt a little disgusted at his own selfishness and arrogance; he took another sip of hot cocoa to try to get the bitter taste out of his mouth.

Kurt’s ears perked at the sounds of shuffling footsteps on the porch. He frowned; Finn was upstairs, Dad in the den, and Carole in the dining room. Whoever it was had to be a visitor, yet he or she wasn’t ringing the doorbell…?

Curious, Kurt disentangled himself from his quilt, got up, and opened the door. In the dimming afternoon light, half turned away, was Dave Karofsky.

"Dave?"

The young telekinetic nearly jumped, turning back with such speed that he nearly slipped on the snow-streaked porch. “Kurt!” he squeaked in a strangled, high-pitched voice.

"What are you doing here? I thought we were going to—" There was a light "thump" as Kurt’s swinging foot pushed at something on the ground. He looked down to see a small gift-wrapped box. "Did you…?"

"I, uh…" Dave looked back and forth between Kurt and the street; Kurt raised an expectant eyebrow. "Yeah, I… wanted to… thank you. For putting up with me all these months. For helping me when you didn’t have to." He stuck his mittened hands into his pockets, and kicked at a miniature snowdrift. "I don’t know where I’d be right now without you, and…" He looked up; the two locked eyes. "Thank you," he said, quietly and simply and firmly. "Thank you so much. I could never, ever repay everything you’ve done for me."

"Dave… You’re welcome, but I—"

"Kurt?" He turned his head at the sound of his name. His dad emerged from the hallway. "Who’s at the door?"

"Oh, it’s a fri—" He turned back, and saw nothing but an empty porch. He squinted at the street, but the sidewalk was already too cloaked in shadow to see anything. "It’s… no one."

"Well, shut the door, then; you’re letting out the heat."

"Okay." He picked up the gift box and, with one last look outside with no sign of Dave, he shut the door.

He only got the chance to fully examine the gift that evening. The card just said “Kurt”; if he hadn’t caught Dave in the act, he wouldn’t have ever known that Dave left it. Strange. Why would he do that? Rather rude of him, really, to not allow the chance of a thank you note… Or maybe that was the point? For all his progress, Dave still wasn’t the type to really understand social obligations and niceties. Oh, well, something else to work on when they had the time.

Kurt carefully unwrapped the rather poorly papered gift (the tape was crooked, the cut lines ragged, the folds messily creased) to reveal a white box. He opened it, and drew out a snow globe. The scene was of a city skyline, with a small figure in a peaked cap soaring high above it, leading three other figures (and a little pinpoint of light) towards a prominent star.

"Second star to the right, and straight on ‘til morning," Kurt whispered to himself. He turned the snow globe upside down, then righted it again; plastic flakes whirled around, and Kurt watched them until they settled back onto the bottom. He turned the globe upside down again, and watched some more. It was oddly soothing, and honestly, one of the better presents Kurt had ever received — and he’d gotten actual Armani from his aunt Mildred one year.

He felt like this meant something… But damn if he knew exactly what.

* * *

**The Sue Sylvester Shuffle  
**

It was all a result of a plot on Kurt’s part — one he was rather proud of, really.

Finn had been complaining about the tension growing between the two factions of the football team, especially without the minor outlet of bullying. A few quiet questions to Dave and other members he knew confirmed everything.

There were quite a few reasons to do something about it. First, Finn wasn’t the only one who was becoming stressed over the situation. Dave was too, especially as one of the few “neutral” members of the team, and as Kurt was never tired of repeating, stress was bad for Dave’s control. Second, the tension was starting to affect glee club rehearsals — Rachel in particular had loudly scolded several of the glee club jocks for their “inattentiveness and listlessness.” Third, assuming that whatever Dave did to his old friends still held, it could be fun watching them squirm in enemy territory.

Fourth, Kurt was dying, _dying_ , to know if Dave could sing or dance.

Thus it was that he swallowed any concern about more Neanderthals in his safe space and went to Coach Beiste with an idea. She liked it, and went to Mr. Schue. And the entirety of the McKinley High School Titans football team became temporary glee club members.

There were no real sparks in the collaboration — mostly sullen stubbornness on both sides, but especially the “enemy’s.” Kurt began wondering more than ever what exactly Dave said and did, but his friend (weird, thinking that about Dave — his _friend_ ) remained silent.

By the time the championship game rolled around, there’d been enough drama to choke a horse, including, but not limited to, the Cheerio revolt, the (increasingly annoying) Finn-Rachel-Quinn… _thing_ , and the attack by Dave’s old hockey team (he wasn’t sure whether he or Dave hated them more for that). The latter incident nearly convinced Dave to quit both glee club _and_ football team altogether. While part of Kurt thought that it was an excellent idea, another part feared that withdrawing from his social activities would cause Dave to slip further into the mindset that he was too different from the rest of humanity to truly belong. In the end, Kurt took a deep breath and told Dave to do whatever he felt most comfortable with. In the end, he decided to stay. “I’m… kinda having fun with the whole dance thing,” he admitted with a sheepish half-grin. Kurt’s emotions at that moment were, to put it kindly, decidedly mixed.

Then there was the three way tension between Dave and the two football factions, a stress factor Kurt had neglected to consider. Kurt was careful to increase their training sessions in response — Dave achieved his heaviest telekinetic lift yet, a fallen tree, during one of those sessions. Still, as Finn’s newly minted stepbrother, he had his own special power: while Dave was able to pull objects, Kurt was able to pull strings — and with a lot more subtlety. A hint here (“We could use more allies on the football team side. I wonder if someone would be willing to help us out… someone who used to be part of their group and knows how they think…”), an idea that he allowed Finn to believe was his own there (“Karofsky was pretty good at the rehearsal, wasn’t he? Maybe if he got a little adult encouragement, he’d work harder…”), mixed in with a little flattery (“You’re the leader of the glee club, Finn. It’s your job to look after everyone, and like it or not, for now Karofsky is a member…”), and voila. Inch by inch, slowly but certainly, Dave was being drawn into Kurt’s world, a world of support and acceptance and possibilities. Maybe Dave could ignore it, but it’d be hard. Frankly, he didn’t have a lot of other options, and Kurt was torn between guilt and the rationale that Dave’s very lack of options made all this necessary.

The worst part was, Kurt couldn’t tell if it was working or not. He couldn’t directly ask Finn or Dave without possibly tipping them off, so the only chance he had was to watch Dave during rehearsals. And while it could’ve been his imagination, it certainly appeared that Finn was making an effort to draw Dave in: helping Dave with his moves, encouraging the others to help keep him and the other football players up to speed (much to both groups’ annoyance and confusion at times), praising him when he did well. He even caught Finn and Dave in discussion after one rehearsal. At their next training session, Kurt casually asked Dave about that conversation, but he was mum. It was frankly driving Kurt a little nuts to not know whether his scheming was bearing fruit.

Despite it all, the halftime show went off without a hitch, and it just confirmed what Kurt had seen during rehearsals: Dave not only _could_ dance, he seemed to _enjoy_ it. Sadly, he couldn’t make out Dave’s voice individually during any of the songs, but the dance discovery alone was a major breakthrough as far as he was concerned.

With the adrenaline-fueled triumph of the halftime show behind them, the rest of the football game was, predictably, a letdown, even with a victory for the Titans. However, Kurt found himself more fascinated than he anticipated, especially at the little details that he was sure would escape most of the crowd…

Finn was named MVP, and Kurt’s heart couldn’t help but surge with pride, despite the circumstances. He watched, beaming, as his stepbrother’s teammates, both glee club members and not, slapped him on the back and cheered their double triumph in both athletics and arts. Then Kurt retreated to the bathroom to change clothes and remove the zombie makeup. By the time he was his normal living breathing self, the football team had already broken up to head for the showers before their championship celebration. Kurt waited in an alcove, watching the red and white figures stroll by, until he saw the familiar number 67. That was his cue to step out of the shadows.

"Dave."

Dave stopped short; fortunately for him, his teammates strode by without even a second glance, having gotten used to Kurt’s presence during rehearsals. He tucked his helmet under his arm, waiting for the last stragglers to disappear around the corner before responding. “Hey.”

"Congratulations. That was quite the victory."

Dave nodded. “Yeah. Finn was really something out there.”

"He was. But he had help."

"I know. I’m kinda surprised, but that glee club stuff really _did_ help us work together as a team…”

Kurt crossed his arms and glared. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

Dave immediately paled, unnecessarily confirming every one of Kurt’s suspicions. “I’m… not sure what you mean.”

"David, I may not know much about football, but I get Bs and better regularly in physics. And there is _no_ way some of those throws Finn made should’ve been caught.”

"Kurt, I—"

"That led me to watch the action a little more closely," Kurt continued, running right over Dave’s protest. "The other team also seemed to miss at some very convenient moments, on both offense and defense. Almost as if _something_ unseen was physically _shoving_ them when it mattered most.”

"I don’t… I…" Dave heaved a sigh. "Shit."

Kurt shook his head. “Dave, you cheated.”

"Okay, for one thing, it was only a _few_ times…”

"That doesn’t matter! What if someone in the stands was recording the game? You could’ve exposed yourself!"

"I was careful! You wouldn’t have even noticed if you hadn’t known already…!"

"You know that’s not the point! The risk alone…!"

"And it wasn’t exactly _cheating_ …”

"That’s _exactly_ what it was! There may not be any football rules against using _telekinetic powers_ …” He hissed the last two words low so only the two of them could hear. “… But it was still cheating! I can’t… I can’t even _express_ how disappointed I am in you!” There was a sharp intake of breath from the young football player, but Kurt was too keyed up to even register it. “For you to _cheat_ like that, for you to use your powers for… for your own _glory_ …”

"If I’d wanted ‘my own glory,’" Dave interrupted in a low, flat voice, " _I_ would’ve been MVP, not Finn.”

"That’s…!" Kurt paused, his righteous indignation stumbling. "That’s… true. Huh." He felt his anger leak out of him, and he looked up at Dave. The larger boy seemed much smaller at the moment, his eyes averted, his hands worrying at each other. "Then why?"

Dave sucked in another breath. “These past couple of weeks…” he began softly. “I… They were _awesome_. I almost… I almost forgot what it was like to actually…” He stopped.

"Yes?" Kurt prompted gently.

"Have fun." Dave cleared his throat, twice, probably unnecessarily. "To have people who… who’d encourage me, and help me out, and…" His lower lip was trembling now. "God, Kurt, you’re so lucky…"

Kurt blinked at the apparent non-sequitur. “Pardon?”

"Your friends… You guys are so tight, in a way that I never had with Az or any of the other guys on the team. Seeing you all like that… Having Finn actually bother to pretend that he gave a shit about me… It…" His words choked off for a moment, but he continued. "I know you probably asked him to do that…" Kurt forced his face to remain neutral. "… But that he did it, and that everyone followed his lead even though they hate me… And I was thinking about how the guys I used to think of as my friends would never have done anything like that for me…"

Kurt hated to interrupt, but a better time might not come up. “Speaking of which… How _did_ you get the guys to leave the glee club alone?”

Dave was silent for long seconds before he said, “When you know someone for long enough, you know… things. Things they’d rather not let Jacob ben Israel find out. Even if they don’t have anything they don’t want others to know, it’s easy enough to force the ones who do to keep ‘em in line.” His face set into a hard, determined stare. “Don’t judge me, Kurt. It was the only way.”

"I’m not judging," Kurt said gently, the enormity of the sacrifices Dave willingly made now becoming clear. God, with how much each of them had given to the other, did either of them have anything of their own left? "I swear, I’m not."

Dave nodded. “Okay.” He let out a long breath. “Anyway… they deserved to win that game. Not _us_ — _them_ … Finn and Sam and Mike and Artie… Hell, even Puck. They _deserved_ it, and I sure as shit wasn’t going to let _anything_ keep them from winning it. So yeah, maybe I did cheat, and maybe I didn’t have to. But don’t ask me to be sorry, because I’m fucking not. As long as I had this one fucking chance to do one small thing for them, I was going to take it.”

"Even if they’d never know what you did?"

“ _Especially_ if they never knew what I did.” Such a simple sentence, but its complexity was kind of nerve wracking. Kurt didn’t realize how long they’d stood there until Dave said, “I, uh… I should go get changed before someone misses me. Or the janitor locks up.”

Kurt actually had to regain his breath before he could speak. “Oh, yes. Yes. Go.” Dave turned to go. “Oh! You were great in the halftime show.” Dave stopped dead, but didn’t turn around. “Seriously, you were. Take it from someone who knows.”

"Mr. Schuester said the same thing." Dave still didn’t turn around; Kurt would’ve killed to see what he looked like at that moment.

"Well, he was right. It’s something to think about, maybe?"

A long pause followed; again, Kurt would’ve killed. “Maybe.” He started walking again.

"You’re a natural!" Kurt called out in a singsong.

"Shut up!" Dave replied in the same singsong, except in a rather more mocking tone. Kurt snickered as he disappeared down the hall.


	4. Chapter 4

**Friendly Persuasion**

"Finn told me you turned him down when he suggested you join the glee club."

"Finn talks too goddamn fucking much."

"So it’s true."

"… Yeah."

"Why’d you refuse? I worked with you for weeks, remember? I could _tell_ how much you were enjoying yourself…”

"Nah, I was enjoying being behind Sam for most of rehearsals. Man, that ass. No wonder you had a crush on the dude."

"Very funny, David. Seriously, though, why? It’s not like you have a reputation to defend anymore… Oh. Oh, God, Dave, I’m sorry, that was really insensitive of me…"

"Nah, that’s okay. It’s not like you can say anything to me that’d be worse than what I did to you."

“ _David_ …”

"Okay, okay, I know, you forgive me, blah blah."

"Is _that_ how you remember my lessons? ‘Blah blah’? That’s it, mister, _double_ the reps next time!”

"Fuck you, Hummel!"

"Charming retort, David. But getting back to the subject at hand…"

"Damn, I’d hoped you’d forget."

"I think you’d fit in with New Directions. The others were starting to warm up to you when you were there. Don’t look at me like that, they really were! And you’d be doing something you enjoy… That would be a serious stress reliever…"

"Look, Kurt, I know you mean well, but… You were right that I don’t have a rep anymore, but that wasn’t exactly my choice, you know?"

"You mean you would’ve continued to be Karofsky the Bully if you could have?"

"I… I didn’t say that…"

"I know you didn’t. And I also know that you didn’t _have_ to blackmail your ex-friends into leaving us alone. But you did anyway. I think if you give the others a chance, if you show them the you that you’ve been showing me, they’d welcome you with open arms.”

"… Maybe. I just… I just don’t feel comfortable around them yet. I mean, you said you were a little edgy with all your former bullies around you, right? How would you feel if you were surrounded by your former bully _victims_?”

"I… I see your point. But if they had a chance to forgive you—"

"Even if they did… I still haven’t."

"… You do realize that’s just another reason for me to argue for your joining New Directions, don’t you?"

"Shit. Can I ever win with you, Hummel?"

"You can only try. Look, I’m only asking because I really think it’ll help you. You… you’ve been withdrawing more and more lately, and… Dammit, Dave, how many times do I have to tell you that you’re not a monster or a freak before you start believing me?"

"You _cannot_ tell me that being able to move shit with my mind is fucking _normal_.”

"Why should I — or you — care about ‘normal’? A lot of people would say being gay isn’t ‘normal.’ Am _I_ some kind of freak or monster? And before you say anything, I know that it isn’t the same thing. My point still stands, though: you can’t make being ‘normal’ the sole definition of whether you’re somehow ‘worthy’ to exist or be happy or fit into society. If that’s what it took, we’d _all_ be miserable outcasts. As far as I’m concerned, most of the qualifications boil down to one thing: are you a good person? And despite your earlier mistakes, which we all agree _were_ mistakes… I think you are deep down.”

"I wish I did."

"That’ll come with time. And that’s why you should join New Directions. I think being able to do something you’re good at will boost your confidence and self-esteem."

"Maybe. I just… I’m just not sure I can face them right now. Hell, I’m still not sure they’re ready to face _me_.”

"All I ask is that you think seriously about it. As for my friends… leave them to me. I’ll work on them some more."

"Now I’m afraid for them. You’re fucking scary when you want to get your way."

"Where you have force of mind, I have force of will. It’s served me well in life so far. You could do with a little of that too. You deserve to feel good about yourself, Dave. Everyone does."

"I guess."

"Okay, fine, there are a few exceptions, but you’ve proven yourself to not be one of them. And the glee club understands what it’s like to struggle. Like I said, you’d fit right in."

"I don’t think they’d be able to understand me… Not like you do."

"Ahem… Well… Like I said, I think they could, if you gave them the chance."

"Maybe, but seriously, if they ever found out my secret… I mean my _big_ one… do you really think I could trust them with it?”

"Are you kidding? Of course not! Rachel would start some kind of very public support group — probably call it ‘Friends of Psychics’ or something similarly grotesque, Puck would try to rope you into doing God knows what, Artie would declare himself your Professor Xavier, Sam would fanboy over you until you felt like launching him into the sun… I love them, I do, but if you’re afraid of being a freak, you’re _nothing_ compared to them.”

"You’re the only sane one, huh?"

"Damn right I am. And stop snickering."

"O-okay, fine, but… ‘Professor Xavier’? I thought you were too good for comic books."

"I’ve seen the movies. Anything starring Sir Ian McKellen is not to be missed. And Hugh Jackman? God, the things I would _do_ to that man…”

"That’s really gay, dude."

"Well, duh."

"… And I would _totally_ do Hugh Jackman.”

"Preach it, David."

* * *

**Silly Love Songs  
**

Kurt liked to think that spending the afternoon of February 14 training Dave was an act of defiance, a spit in the face towards a relationship-crazed society that believed that you weren’t worth anything unless you had a romantic partner.

But really, he knew that he would’ve cancelled in a heartbeat if he’d actually had a boyfriend.

On the other hand, he didn’t want Dave to feel like second fiddle, or some kind of obligation (though his feelings on _that_ subject were even more complex than he was ready to admit yet), so training proceeded as scheduled. With the winter days still unreasonably short, they met at the Karofsky house while Dave’s parents were still at work. Meditation practice was the core of the day’s session; Dave insisted that he was meditating as ordered during his free time, though Kurt was a little skeptical. “You have to keep up with it, David. Practice makes perfect.” God, when had he become a mother hen?

Just as they were wrapping up, Dave got a phone call from his parents; he was on his own for dinner that night. “So am I,” Kurt said. “Dad and Carole are out, and Finn’s with Quinn.”

"This week."

Kurt snickered, even as he punched Dave in the arm. “That’s my stepbrother you’re insulting… as true as it is. Anyway, there’s no reason we have to eat alone, even if it is Valentine’s Day.” Dave coughed, suddenly finding the carpet endlessly fascinating; Kurt raised an eyebrow at this, but went on. “So why don’t we go out somewhere? I’d rather have dinner with a friend than be alone.”

"Sounds, uh…" Another cough. "Sounds good. But where? Every place is bound to be packed full ‘cause it’s… y’know… Valentine’s Day."

"Hm. True. We’ll figure something out."

That “something” turned out to be McDonald’s, one of the only places that was too lame for even the most desperate boyfriend to suggest for a romantic night out. Fortunately, with modern health awareness, Kurt was able to order something he could actually stomach eating. “Something that actually has a color other than _beige_ to it,” he said, eying the grease shining off of Dave’s Big Mac patties.

"Hey, I’ve got plenty of vegetables. Lettuce, pickles, onions, fries…"

Kurt shook his head sadly as he sipped at his Diet Coke. “Healthy body, healthy _mind,_ Dave.”

"Oh, shit, does this mean you’re putting me on a fucking diet? That’s going too far, even for you!"

"Don’t tempt me." Kurt stole a french fry, grinning cheekily at Dave’s glare.

"Hurry up, we’re going to be late for the movie!" The two turned at the voice. A girl around their age (Kurt thought he recognized her from his English Lit class) dragged a boy towards the order line. Said boy looked a little frazzled, yet he looked at his companion with such obvious affection that it almost made Kurt’s heart melt.

"We could just get food at the theater, you know," the boy said somewhat halfheartedly.

"Are you kidding? We could buy, like, a week’s worth of food here for what they charge!" She pulled him into line. "You order for me. I’m gonna use the bathroom."

"No problem." He watched her go, staring at her ass with such hearts in his eyes that the juxtaposition was a little jarring.

"You know he knows her order by heart." Kurt jumped a little at Dave’s voice. It took him a moment to fully process the simple sentence.

"I’m sure you’re right."

Dave regarded him for a long moment with a piercing look that frankly put Kurt a little on edge; he had to turn back to the line, to watch the boy bouncing on his heels waiting to order. “You want someone who knows your order by heart, don’t you?”

Kurt whirled back on Dave. “What?”

"You got that faraway ‘sigh, how romantic’ look." Dave grinned, waggling a finger at Kurt’s eyes.

"Shut up!" Kurt groused good-naturedly. But his gaze went back to the line, where the boy had just gotten to the register, the girl joining him at his side; their arms snaked around each other’s waists.

"There it is again," Dave teased.

"Okay, fine, yeah, I do. At least… I think it’d be nice." Kurt idly stirred his straw in his watered down Diet Coke. "I at least want to give it a shot, but…" He sighed. "I think I’m just destined to be alone forever."

"What? Why?"

Kurt shrugged. “I don’t know; that just feels like how the trajectory of my life is going. There was this one guy at the Gap who I _think_ was flirting with me, but that was probably just my imagination.” He turned his plastic fork over in his hand idly. “Maybe when I get out of Lima… Somewhere with acres of hot single guys. But now, in Lima, Ohio? I seriously doubt it.”

There was a long silence. Kurt wasn’t sure if he’d been expecting a response, but… He looked up at Dave. No, there didn’t seem to be anything wrong with him; he was just sitting there, staring back at Kurt with a blank gaze. Suddenly, he got to his feet. “I’ll be right back.” He turned and, instead of heading into the small hallway towards the bathrooms, simply left the restaurant. Kurt frowned for a moment, then shrugged again. Dave would be back.

He instead spent the next several minutes watching the couple pick up their food, then hurry out the door, not to mention continuing to idly pick at Dave’s fries. He only noticed Dave’s return when he heard the creak of the booth bench across from him. “Everything okay?” Kurt asked.

"Huh? Oh, yeah, everything’s fine." And indeed, Dave certainly did seem fine. He shoved a fistful of fries into his mouth, grinning through them at Kurt’s curled lip. "Get your own," he said, words muffled through a mouthful of potato.

"Disgusting! Manners, David!" He waited until Dave swallowed until he spoke again. "So what about you?"

Dave blinked. “What about me?”

"Don’t you want… you know… to celebrate Valentine’s Day with someone? I mean, you seem to be handling your sexuality very well…" His voice lowered at the last words, despite their content; as far as he knew, he was still the only one who knew Dave was gay, so his natural caution kicked in.

"Yeah, well… When you’re dealing with bigger problems…" He raised an eyebrow, and Kurt’s empty salad bowl shimmied slightly on the table. "… being gay seems like kind of a minor issue, y’know?" Kurt nodded. "I guess… that’s the thing. I’m way too busy dealing with… other stuff to worry about the whole gay thing most of the time. But I guess if I think about it… Yeah, I kinda do, one of these days. Want a boyfriend." His voice cracked on the last word. "But I still dunno if I wanna come out right now. I mean, it’s still high school, and… I’m not sure if…" He trailed off, but Kurt merely nodded again. While he believed that coming out would certainly help Dave relieve stress, he was just as uncertain as Dave was whether that relief would be canceled out by the grief he’d undoubtedly get at school, not to mention his parents’ reaction. "Besides, who the fuck would I date? Like you said, Lima, and besides me being in the closet, there’s my…" The salad bowl vibrated again; he looked at Kurt significantly. "… You know."

"I completely understand, Dave. But maybe your time will come too, once you get out of Lima."

"Once I…?" He exhaled sharply. "I… guess. Maybe. I don’t know."

There was something else there, but Kurt didn’t feel like pressing right now. Instead he said lightly, “Well, I’m done, unless you want to stuff your face some more. Really, you jocks are bottomless pits… I didn’t think Finn had any equal until I met you.”

Dave laughed, instantly sending relief through Kurt’s chest. “Hey, we’re growing boys.” He paused. “Man, with Finn, that’s kinda scary. Anyway…” He gathered his trash onto his tray. “Ready when you are.”

The two teenagers tossed their trash and stepped out into the chilly winter night. As they circled around the building towards their cars, they came across the McDonald’s Dumpsters, kept in a chained-off area near the back of the mostly deserted parking lot. Only at the moment, the fencing was wide open. Both Dumpsters were laying on their sides, their contents scattering across the lot on the winds. A harried looking employee was desperately trying to gather up the wayward garbage.

Kurt shook his head. “That’s what I hate about stupid vandalism like that,” he said. “Who do they think cleans up after them? Some kid like them, working for minimum wage. If they’d just think about that, maybe they wouldn’t do it. Or at least feel a little guilty.”

"Maybe." Dave’s voice was thin, choked. As they got to their cars, he cleared his throat. "I’ll see you tomorrow. Thanks again for dinner."

"Sure thing. Us single Valentine’s haters have to stick together, you know?" He smiled; Dave nodded as he smiled back. As they got into their cars and drove off, something tickled in the back of Kurt’s mind as he watched the poor McDonald’s worker still scrambling to clean up. But it never turned into anything more than a tickle; he shrugged to himself and pulled away.

* * *

**Blame It on the Alcohol  
**

Only his friends would try to find inspiration for an anti-alcohol song by actually drinking gallons of alcohol, Kurt thought wryly as Mercedes rubbed her cheek on his lower legs like a cat.

Finn was elsewhere, either trying to keep Rachel and Quinn apart (or else just hiding), leaving Kurt in the living room to try to keep some semblance of order without help… Okay, maybe a little help. When Kurt invited Dave to the party, he’d hoped it would be a step forward in his scheme to get Dave into the glee club. But now, watching a tense and uncomfortable Dave clutch his Solo cup of Coke like a finger hold on the side of a mountain, it looked like it would actually be a pretty big stumble back.

Kurt gently nudged Mercedes out of his way so he could stand, wending his way around the middle of the dance floor-cum-living room until he reached Dave’s side. He was sitting in a recliner, half-watching the escapades with blank eyes. “Not indulging?” Kurt muttered in his ear, causing a rather funny jump on the football player’s part.

"Shit, Kurt, don’t scare me like that," he muttered. "I could’ve blown up the room."

"That definitely would’ve made this party more interesting."

"Heh, yeah, maybe." Dave looked down at his cup. "I don’t drink. I pretended to, to keep Az and the others off my back, but I’ve never gotten drunk in my life." His shoulders visibly sagged. "I was always afraid of what I’d do if I… lost control."

"Ah. Makes sense." Kurt took a sip of his own soda, watching as Brittany did a highly erotic grind against Mike and thanking all the gods in every pantheon that Tina wasn’t around. "I’m sorry, Dave, I had no idea this would turn out this way…"

"Forget it. I mean, it’s not all bad… I actually had no idea they could get like this. It’s actually kind of funny."

"I told you, I’m an island of sanity and normalcy in a sea of…" He waved a careless hand towards the party. " _This_.”

"Oh, yeah, right, like training a telekinetic is _so_ normal,” Dave snarked in a low voice.

Kurt’s lips quirked in amusement. “Shut up, Karofsky.”

"Make me. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m bigger and stronger than you are, never mind the… other shit I can do."

"Strength isn’t everything, you know. Just ask Finn sometime who wears the pants back home."

"I can just imagine."

The laugh they shared would be the last of the evening.

It didn’t seem possible at the time, but the party actually degenerated further as the night wore on. Kurt, personally, blamed Rachel. She quickly went through her willing karaoke partners and soon became desperate for more. Pleas directed at both Kurt and Dave were met with stubborn refusal. Being defied brought on a petulant, stubborn mood that seemed to infect the rest of the drunken revelers with a kind of nervous tension. There were more snarls, more snaps, more territoriality of various kinds that had Kurt and Finn exchanging nervous glances. Both had their hands full trying to keep Quinn out of the center of attention; she, they’d silently agreed, was key, having tension with both Rachel and Lauren, so Finn did his best to distract her with affection (outside of Rachel’s view, of course) while Kurt stood guard over the others.

When everything exploded, it was both sudden and expected. It seemed that the bottle used in Spin the Bottle had both a mind of its own and a sadistic sense of humor, because the game collapsed into a riot of screaming accusations. Old simmering hostilities were boiling over; the mood was ugly. “We gotta break this up before something really bad happens,” Finn said.

"Agreed." Once they made the suggestion, the ending of the party was quickly and unanimously accepted. That was the unexpectedly easy part. What followed, however, was far from.

"I don’t _wanna_ wait around with these lamer… lamezoids!” Santana whined, nearly falling over at the end of each word. “I wanna go home _now_!”

"In your condition?" Kurt asked quietly. "Your parents will know something’s up."

"Pssh! That’s why my bedroom’s on the first floor, an’ the window’s always open." She gave a broad wink that Kurt only barely resisted the urge to laugh at. Laughing at sober Santana was a dicey enough prospect as it was. Instead, he glanced down at his phone; Finn had only just left with Sam, Mike, and Tina, but there was a text waiting from Dave: "just dropped off mercedes coming back now." He sighed in relief, wishing for the hundredth time that he’d ignored Finn and just called a bunch of cabs. But no, their august leader wanted to make sure there wouldn’t be any negative consequences for his team. He pointed out that the vast majority of the group was snoozing in drunken stupors now that they were cut off and the excitement was over, and Kurt just _had_ to buckle under those puppy dog eyes. Maybe his pants-wearing status wasn’t as solid as he’d told Dave.

"Just wait a little while longer. Your ride’s coming back soon."

"Noooo. I’m goin’ and you can’t make me stay."

"Just a few more minutes!" There was the clatter of glass behind him; Kurt whirled around. "Puck, those are empty!"

"Aw, man!"

"Just… go lie down or something! God, I feel like I’m running a day care. Now, Santana—" He turned back to speak to… empty air. "Santana?" The front door was wide open, but it wasn’t the cold wind rushing inside that chilled him. "Santana!" Kurt rushed outside. Santana was already at the curb, in front of her car, fumbling with her keys while muttering something he could only hear snatches of — something about Artie and Brittany. "Santana, don’t!"

She looked up at him with bleary, bloodshot eyes; Kurt struggled to remember how much Santana had drunk. Maybe it was more — a lot more — than he thought, to have affected her judgment so. “Shut up, Fairy Godmother,” she slurred. “I’m blowin’ this joint, an’ you can’t stop me.” She opened her car door; Kurt was already halfway down the driveway (much too far away, much too late), wondering if she’d try to run him over if he stepped in front of the car…

The door slammed shut. Santana, still very much on the outside of the car, stared dumbly. With a frown, she pulled at the door handle. Nothing. Growling, she tugged harder. Still nothing. She screamed in frustration, leaning back with her entire body weight. It didn’t do a lick of good.

Kurt stared in utter perplexity. Then he saw it: Dave leaning casually against his car on the other side of the driveway, seemingly watching the scene with a small grin. He looked up and nodded towards Kurt. Kurt returned the nod with his own smirk.

Spewing a stream of Spanish that Kurt had little doubt was mostly made of epithets, Santana tottered around the car to the passenger’s side. After three attempts, she managed to get her key into the lock and twist. She pulled at the handle, again without success. Spitting out a single word Kurt didn’t understand (he wasn’t even sure what language it was), Santana threw her keys down in frustration. “Fuck that! I’m walking!” She began to stagger down the sidewalk, but abruptly turned on her heel and started back towards Kurt. She shrieked in annoyance and confusion, looking down at her body as if it were betraying her. “What the fuck!” Her head turned back in the direction she had started to go, her shoulders strained, but still she continued towards Kurt. Finally, she seemed to let go; her entire body went limp. She sank towards the ground, ever so gently, as if someone were guiding her fall with the utmost care. By the time her cheek touched the cold grass of the front lawn, she was snoring.

Kurt knelt by her side, quickly joined by Dave. The former shot the latter a look. “When she sobers up…” he began.

Dave shook his head with a smile. “I’ve seen her at a dozen parties. She won’t believe most of what she remembers tomorrow, assuming she remembers anything. She’ll just figure she was too drunk off her ass to function.”

"Which is true." Kurt watched as Dave gently gathered Santana in his arms and carried her towards his car. He ran ahead of the two and opened the back passenger side seat; Dave gingerly slid the dozing cheerleader in. Dave shut the door, nodding to himself in satisfaction.

"I’ll stick around ‘til Finn comes back," he said. "But the others should be a cakewalk."

"Thank you for your help," Kurt said quietly.

Dave shrugged casually. “Sure. I couldn’t let her go off like that, could I?”

"You know…" Kurt said with a smile, "you just saved her life with your power. You’re now an official superhero."

Dave huffed, rubbing the back of his neck. Even turned half away, even in the dim streetlight, Kurt could plainly see the blush running up his face. “Shit, don’t say things like that, Kurt. You had her under control.”

“ _You_ are a _superhero_.” Kurt playfully poked at Dave’s shoulder, provoking a nasty glare that had long ceased to intimidate him. “So what do you want to call yourself? The Mover? Captain Fury?”

"Aw, c’mon, stop it!"

"You could at least admit that doing good feels good. Doesn’t it feel better than anything you did when you were just Karofsky?"

"Fuck, yeah." The answer came without a moment’s hesitation.

"Then remember that, next time you think you’re some kind of freak. Being a freak or a monster isn’t what you _are_ , it’s what you _do_. And what you just did… I don’t think a monster would be capable of it.”

"Well… thanks." Dave looked as though he wanted to say more, but Finn’s car pulled up at that moment, so the two quickly broke off the conversation.

Still, though, for weeks afterward, Kurt would suggest superhero names. “Mr. Stupendous? Kinetic Man? Miraculous Lad?” Dave would lob apple cores at him in retaliation, but _so_ worth it.

* * *

**Original Song**

Kurt hadn’t felt stage fright in years — not since his first elementary school pageant. As a seasoned performer, he had a keen sense of what his talents were, and confidence in his ability to rise to the occasion. So as he strode through the bustling backstage area of Elsie Janis Theater, he knew that his jittery hands and twitching cheek were _not_ caused by nervousness over the upcoming New Directions performance. Perhaps it should’ve been, with their setlist of untested original songs, but in this case, he had to admit that Rachel was right: original songs would set them apart, allow them to speak directly to their audience and the judges, and showcase their talents in a way a preexisting song written by some producer in Los Angeles could never do.

No, he was nervous because he was waiting for a rather large shoe to drop — a shoe named…

"Kurt!"

Blaine Anderson, handsome in his neatly fitted Dalton uniform, jogged up to him with a smile. Well, at least the suspense was over with.

If only he had any better idea what to say.

"I haven’t gotten a chance to talk to you in a while!" Blaine said cheerfully, oblivious to Kurt’s pursed lips and eyes searching futilely for a graceful exit. "I know you don’t like to do the texting thing…"

"I’m sorry about that," Kurt said, trying to inject as much sincerity as he could into his voice, "but I’ve been so busy, and… well, you know, you’re the competition now…" He winced gingerly.

Blaine held up a hand. “Say no more. I was just curious, that’s all. How did things work out with your bully?”

Kurt’s teeth ground. “We… came to an understanding.” He would’ve cheerfully strangled a kitten to be swept away in New Directions drama right that second.

"That’s great!" Blaine beamed. "I told you, you just have to stand up for yourself. So what did you say?"

"Oh, you know… That I wasn’t going to stand for his harassment anymore… That he wasn’t going to change who I was…" _Then he kissed me, and wrecked the room with his telekinesis…_

Blaine nodded approvingly. “I’ll bet he didn’t like that.” An anxious look suddenly passed over his face. “You _did_ confront him somewhere public, right?”

 _Now you tell me_. “Well, I’m obviously still standing, right?” _No thanks to you,_ he thought, even as he recognized the unfairness. Besides, if he hadn’t found out about Dave’s power, what could’ve happened when Dave finally snapped? Who might he have hurt… Maybe even killed? Would he be in the custody of men in black suits at this very moment? It was a sobering thought. “Thank you, though. I think everything turned out the best it could in the end.”

"You’re very welcome! I’m glad I could do my part. You know, I’ve always thought that bullies do what they do because they lack power in their own lives, so it’s good to see that— Uh, Kurt? Are you okay?"

Kurt couldn’t answer at first. He knew that he was beginning to get stares from more people than Blaine, but he couldn’t help himself. Peals and peals of nigh hysterical laughter had him leaning forward, almost doubled up on himself; it took supreme effort to keep himself from rolling around on the floor. Through his tears, he could see Blaine look around helplessly, as if wondering if he should ask someone to call a doctor. Finally, his roaring subsided into giggles, and he felt remarkably refreshed. God, what kind of tension did he have built up inside? Was this what it was like for Dave to release his power after long suppression? “Oh God, I’m so sorry, Blaine… I… That was…” He wiped his eyes on his sleeve and cleared his throat. “I’m fine. Really. I’m… fine.”

"If you say so…" came the dubious reply, complete with raised eyebrow.

"I should… I should go." Kurt pointed over his left shoulder with both hands. "Get ready. You know. For our performance. Break a leg, Blaine."

"You too," Blaine said in a soft, dazed voice.

Kurt straightened his spine, turned, and walked off, ignoring the still lingering stares from backstage workers and fellow performers. They were irrelevant. He had a competition to win.

Maybe after his triumph, he could start wondering whether he was truly starting to crack up.

* * *

**Delicacy**

"Uh… What’s that?"

"It’s a piece of rice paper in the middle of a circle of salt, Dave."

"Oh. So I’m not going insane — just you."

Kurt chuckled. “Maybe, but there’s a method to my madness.” He gestured for Dave to join him at the dining room table. “This is another test,” he said as Dave sat. “I realized recently that I’m still not sure how exactly you use your power to manipulate objects. Do you ‘handle’ them with your mind, like you would with your hands?”

Dave frowned a moment in thought. “Not exactly. It’s like I’m…” He thought for another moment before continuing. “I’m… pushing the power out of my head at whatever it is I’m trying to move, and the power just… forces it to move the way I want. It’s… really hard to explain…”

"Well, then, maybe my test will help me understand. What I want you to do is to lift the rice paper—"

Dave snorted. “That’s easy.”

Kurt shot a look that instantly closed Dave’s mouth. “Let me finish, David. Lift the rice paper without tearing it or disturbing the salt.” He watched his friend’s reaction closely. “That look tells me you’re not completely sure you can do it.”

"No need to rub it in," Dave huffed.

"No, no, this is good. This tells me a little about how your power operates. Go ahead. Give it a try."

Kurt watched, chin resting on his hands, as Dave stared at the rice paper. It began to ripple and roll, as if it were a cresting wave. It lifted about half an inch off the table before it tore in two, scattering a little of the salt as it ripped.

Dave slammed a fist onto the table. “Shit!”

"Calm down, Dave, we’ll just try it again…" He placed another piece of rice paper into the circle. "Now just take it slow and—" Rip. "I said—"

"I want to try again."

"Dave, I—"

"I said I want to try again," Dave snapped.

"Slow down, for God’s sake! Just… take a second, okay? This isn’t a football game or Halo. This isn’t a competition. You’re still learning, and so am I, for that matter. You’re so used to brute force that you haven’t had much practice with finesse. It’ll take a while."

"Yeah, and you’re just all about finesse, right?" His voice was low and sarcastic, but Kurt could just make out a crack of a grin.

"Of course. Don’t you remember when I was a Cheerio?"

Dave suddenly had a coughing fit. Kurt waited patiently for it to subside. “Uh, y-yeah…” he finally gasped out as the spasm ended. “Yeah, I remember.”

"And I’m a dancer. So is Mike, and he’s on the football team with you, so you should know what can happen when power and finesse marry. So just… relax. You aren’t a failure if you can’t do this at first — only if you give up."

Dave most certainly did not give up. Half an hour later, Kurt was looking down at the pile of torn rice paper in front of him.

"Well…" Kurt began, "you… made a good effort."

"I sucked," Dave said in disgust. "I’m just a fucking caveman that hits everything with a club."

"But eventually cavemen learned and evolved higher functions," Kurt said, trying not to think of all the times "Neanderthal" left his mouth describing Dave. "If they can do it, it should be a piece of cake for you."

"So what, I’m not an ‘ignoramus’ anymore?"

"What…?" It took a moment for the memory to click. "Oh. Look, Dave, I was angry, and I was deliberately trying to hurt you…"

"Yeah. I know what that’s like. Forget it."

"Not until I apologize."

"For what? Defending yourself? It was the best thing you ever did. You weren’t letting a shithead like me bring you down." Dave’s lips curled in a gentle smile. "And I’m really glad. I’m really glad you stopped me before I hurt you too bad."

Kurt’s mouth opened, but nothing came out. It took a couple of attempts for his brain to supply him with words. “Well, I— I mean, I didn’t exactly _stop_ you from—”

"You did, though. By showing me what being strong really means. You picked me up when I felt like a freak and helped me even though you had no reason to, and… God, Kurt, how can I not carry that around with me forever? I tell you, dude, if I ever do become a superhero, use my power to help people… It’ll be because of you. Because of all the kindness you gave me."

Kurt felt his chest start to tremble. “I… I don’t know what to— Dave, I think that’s the highest compliment anyone’s ever paid to me. Ever.”

"You earned it, man. You seriously did."

Kurt decided then and there to end the session; he was out of rice paper, and he had to get Dave out of the house before his parents and Finn returned (or he bawled in front of Dave like an embarrassing child). But just as he was opening the door, Dave shut it again, and rounded on Kurt with disturbing speed.

"You wanna hang out?"

"W-what?"

Dave licked his lips and began again. “Hang out. Sometime. I mean, doing something other than training.”

"Why?" Dave’s face fell, and Kurt immediately cursed himself for a idiot. "That came out wrong. I meant, why would you want to hang out with me? We barely have anything in common, besides appreciating Chris Evans’ torso…"

"Because I know you’re tired of me." Kurt opened his mouth to protest, but Dave went on. "You only ever see me to train, and I know that’s gotta put a lot of stress on you. Aren’t you the one who’s always telling me that stress kills? I want to give something back — not just take from you. I want to mean something to you other than this huge secret you gotta keep. I want to be…" He closed his eyes for a moment before continuing, which Kurt found odd. "A good friend. You at least deserve that from me."

If there was one thing about Dave Karofsky he’d learned in their months of training (besides the fact that the man really needed to get a sense of humor that didn’t revolve around disgusting bodily functions), it was that he didn’t exactly wear his heart on his sleeve. A necessary skill, he had to admit, if he wanted to hide who and what he was. For him to make that kind of offer, make that kind of effort, especially when Kurt hadn’t yet broached the subject of their weird, kind of strained relationship himself… Kurt knew if he just threw that away, it would not only be cruel, but probably set Dave back severely. And if he actually considered Dave a kind of friend, wasn’t this what he hoped for — that Dave felt the same?

Besides, his selfish side reminded him, having a telekinetic as a friend held… oh, so many possibilities…

"So… what would we do, then?"

The hope that lit up Dave’s face was so dazzling, Kurt didn’t even think it strange. “Oh, Christ, I didn’t even think that far…” They both chuckled. “I mean… I suppose we could start with Netflix. There’s gotta be something there we both like. I mean, if nothing else, I could stand watching Chow Yun Fat or something…”

"You remembered! In that case, how can I refuse? How about Friday? It’s date night for Dad and Finn, but a good movie would be the next best thing for me."

Dave nodded, biting his lower lip. “Yeah, sounds… sounds good. We can figure out a time later.”

"Definitely sounds good. Talk to you later."

"Yeah. Good night, Kurt."

Hope fluttered in Kurt’s chest as Dave shut the door behind him. _Friends_ … _And a gay one, to boot — someone who can understand my boy troubles and what it’s like for me in Lima and oh! He could be my wingman…_ Maybe, just maybe, things were getting better. Maybe, just maybe, they’d get a little easier.

He was completely wrong, of course, but at least he had his moment of delusion.


	5. Chapter 5

**Troubled Waters**

"I said, try again."

"What the fuck, Hummel! I’ve already tried a dozen fucking times already!"

It had been like that all afternoon, all tension and strain and frustration. Kurt would’ve left long ago if it hadn’t been his house.

"Try. It. Again." Kurt’s voice was icicle cold, icicle sharp.

"You know what? Screw you!" Dave jumped to his feet. "Just because I have some trouble getting my fucking telekinetic head clear doesn’t mean you can act like my fucking father!"

"It’s important you do this, Dave! What did I say about practicing on your own? If you can’t take me seriously—"

"How can I? Huh? How can I take you fucking seriously? You don’t know what’s going on with me any more than I do!"

"At least I’m _trying_!”

"Oh, what, and I’m not? Lemme remind you: _I’m_ the one with the fucking power here. Me! Not you! You can _never_ understand—”

"And I never will, if you’re going to insist on being _lazy_ and just—”

"Lazy?" Dave barked a contemptuous laugh. " _Lazy_? That just proves you have _no_ fucking clue what it’s like to be me!”

"Oh, of course not! I can _never_ understand what it’s like to be a big hotshot football player—”

"Oh, we’re going _there_ now? We’re really fucking going there?”

"Able to pass for straight—"

"Don’t you dare—"

"And have this _amazing_ power—”

“ _I didn’t want it_!” Dave shouted, throwing up his hands in frustration. “I never wanted—! All I wanted was to get through high school, maybe have a girlfriend, just fly under the fucking radar. But that was _never_ possible for me. Just _having_ this power took it _all_ away…”

"Oh, _that_ kind of dream was never possible for me either! You really think you’re the only one—”

"Why couldn’t I be you!" Dave screamed.

Kurt gaped. Dave’s face was scrunched up and red. He waved clenched fists helplessly in the air, then threw himself down onto the nearest chair. He held his head in his hands. He was silent, but his shoulders were heaving.

"Why…?" Kurt had to form the sentence all over again. "Why would you ever want—?"

"Look at your life, dude," Dave’s muffled voice said. "You got a dad who loves you, a stepmom and stepbrother who’d do anything for you. You got friends who know who you are and don’t care. You’ve always been brave and strong in all the ways that matter…"

"And you think you’re not." Kurt had meant it as a question, but it came out a statement. "You know the old phrase about the grass always being greener. My life and I aren’t as perfect as you may think… And yours and you don’t suck as bad."

"I’m sorry, Kurt, I— I know you’re just trying to help me, and I just went and…" He rose from the chair. "I should go. I should just… go."

"Forever?" Kurt asked softly. "You sound like you want it to be."

"Why the fuck not? I’m just a fucking ingrate who’ll get you hurt or worse someday…"

"You want to handle this on your own? Deal with it the way you did before: alone and miserable?" He hadn’t intended to inject so much acid into his words, but dammit, why couldn’t Dave just see that—

"Maybe I should! At least I wouldn’t be dragging you down with me."

"Don’t you think that’s my choice to make?"

"Why would you ever want—"

"Because I’d worry about you, you idiot!"

Dave gaped. “What?” he asked weakly.

"Oh, God, you’re surprised, aren’t you? For heaven’s…! I thought we were friends, David. Of course I’d worry about you! I wouldn’t know if you were all right, how you were handling your power, if you were trapped in some government lab… It’d be inhuman of me not to worry!"

Dave sank back into the chair. “Maybe that’s what I am…”

 _Oh God_. He had a suspicion that dark thought was lurking somewhere in Dave’s mind, but now that it was out in the open, it was like a physical presence, a blot sucking in light and air and hope. “Dave…”

"Oh, come on, Kurt, you must have thought of it. I sure have."

"Fine, if you don’t think you’re— If you’re not human… Then what are you?"

"I don’t know! Maybe I’m a mutant, or half alien, or… I don’t know! All I know is that a fucking human can’t do what I can do!"

A car roared by on the street outside. Someone next door laughed loudly. Muffled bass pounded from a distance.

Then Kurt spoke. “Funny you should mention mutants… The entire story of the X-Men is a metaphor for gay and other civil rights movements. In case you’ve forgotten, Dave, that’s the struggle to be recognized as human beings, despite their differences from the mainstream.”

Dave looked up for a moment blankly. Then he looked down at his hands, flexing them slowly. “Yeah, but… This is fucking real life. I didn’t think any of that comic book stuff was real. Not until…” He trailed off, and didn’t continue. He didn’t need to.

"From what I know of comics, a common theme is that it’s the individual’s choice what to do with their powers, and that that decision is what makes them human. Superman is full blooded alien, but he’s about the best example of humanity we have. Every day, people all over the world make some kind of moral choice about what to do with the skills and talents they have. So in a sense, Dave, what you’re going through is extremely common. And very human."

Dave didn’t answer at first, continuing to stare down at his hands… Hands that could direct a psychic force that Kurt sometimes thought could actually, literally move mountains. When he finally spoke, it was so softly Kurt had to strain to hear him. “I’m sorry I yelled at you, Kurt. It’s been a shit of a week, and I just got frustrated and… I’ll practice at home more, I promise…”

"Well, I shouldn’t have yelled either, and I apologize for what I said before too. And I’ll accept yours… Just as long as you promise to think seriously about what I said about your humanity. As I keep saying, your powers are unusual, and I admit they can be scary, but don’t let them determine your worth as a person. _You_ do that.”

Somebody started a lawnmower outside. A honking horn echoed off the eaves of the porch. There was a yell that sounded somewhat like, “Hurry up! We’re gonna be late!”

"Hey, Dave?"

"Yeah?"

"Look around. See anything strange?"

Frowning, Dave looked about the room. “No. Everything seems fine to me.”

"Exactly," Kurt said with a wide smile. "We had a big argument with your emotions flying all over the place, but not a single thing in this room is broken. Not a single thing moved. You lost yourself in your feelings, but you never lost control of your power."

Dave jumped to his feet. His head whirled wildly about the room, as if searching for an overturned lamp or crooked painting. “Holy shit,” he breathed. “Holy shit, I…”

"So," Kurt said, still grinning like an idiot. "Want to try again?"

Dave looked at Kurt in wonder, a similar smile blooming. “Yeah. Fuck, yeah, I want to try again!”

* * *

**Born This Way**

"… And then she said that she knew my secret," Dave said grimly.

Kurt’s hand flew to his mouth, a chill jolting his spine. “Ohmigod… She really—?”

Dave broke out into a grin. “… That I’m gay.”

Kurt threw a sofa pillow directly at Dave’s face. It stopped cold in midair inches from impact, then dropped to the floor. “You _bastard_! You could’ve told me that before I had a freaking _heart attack_!”

"What, and miss the look on your face?" The mischievous grin shattered. "But I was scared as fuck too. I was _sure_ Santana was gonna blackmail me into using my power to help her do… something. I’m just fucking lucky that I had my head on straight enough to not just spill the beans before I found out what she really knew.”

"If she had, I would’ve regretted you actually helping her at Rachel’s party," Kurt grumbled. "So what _did_ she want?”

"She wants me to help her run for junior prom queen."

Kurt frowned. “Strange. Why would she want and trust you to help her in particular? She hardly trusts anyone except Brittany and Quinn.”

Dave licked his lips. “Um… I… shouldn’t say.”

"Oh." Kurt’s gossip instincts pricked — there was definitely _something_ there, something Santana probably told him during that conversation at the Lima Bean. But Dave didn’t look like he wanted to tell, so Kurt didn’t press; he knew now the importance of sometimes keeping secrets (oh God, did he ever).

"But it’s fucking funny… If it weren’t for that _one_ little thing about me, I wouldn’t be _relieved_ that someone found out that I’m gay. But it’s never been as important to me as…” He waved a hand casually, and the fallen pillow picked itself up off the floor and nestled back onto the sofa.

Kurt nodded. “But you know… Ever since I found out — ever since we began training… You seem to be a lot more comfortable with your power.” He nodded again, this time towards the pillow. “Case in point. Can you imagine yourself just doing that in the beginning?”

"No way. I never would’ve wanted to accept it like that. But now… I gotta face facts. I have this power, it’s not going away, it’s up to me how I use it, and if I ignore it, I’ll just cause everything I’m afraid of."

"Very good." Kurt tried not to sound too condescending or smug at his own role in this little awakening, but he wasn’t quite sure how well he succeeded. "And it’s helped your control, too. When was the last time you woke up to chaos?"

"A long time ago," Dave admitted. "The more I use it, the more I let it out… The less chance it has to build up until it explodes. You were right."

"Of course I was." Okay, fine, he definitely failed there, but he was allowed a little ego now and again, wasn’t he? "Oh! Did I tell you about Mr. Schue’s latest idea? Of course you’d know, if you were a member of New Directions…"

"Don’t push your luck, Hummel," Dave said dryly. "So what is it?"

"T-shirts," Kurt said, immediately realizing how lame it sounded when spoken aloud. "Written across the chests with our biggest flaw, real or perceived, that defines us in the eyes of others. So we can own it."

"Yeah? What’s yours gonna say?"

"The obvious," Kurt replied with a shrug. "It may not be a flaw, but it’s what people notice, so… I’m gonna own it." He stared at Dave appraisingly; the football player shifted in discomfort. "Hmm."

"You’re thinking about what mine would say, aren’t you?"

"Telepathic as well as telekinetic. Remarkable." Kurt tapped his chin in thought. "Just plain ‘Telekinetic’ seems kind of simple. ‘Moves With My Mind’? Oh! ‘ _Gay_ Telekinetic’! Perfect!”

"Why did I stop harassing you?" Dave grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Shush. Anyway, we’re going to perform to Lady Gaga’s ‘Born This Way’ — I assume even you’ve heard it — in a performance at school, and— I know that look."

Dave started a little. “What?”

"I know that look. You were having deep thoughts." He pointed directly at Dave. "Out with it."

"I… Okay." Dave took a breath. "Do you think there are other people out there… like me?"

"You mean… that have powers like you do?"

Dave nodded quickly. “I was thinking about being ‘born this way’… You tell me that all the time… And it just occurred to me… Could… Could I be the only one? I mean, there are, what, thousands of babies being born every day, so whatever made me this way, it’s gotta happen more than once, right? But… what if what happened to me is one of those one time things? Why don’t we hear about more people with powers? What if…” Dave swallowed audibly. “What if I’m alone…?”

Kurt sat on the floor in front of Dave. “Okay, first things first: even if you’re the only person with powers in the entire history of mankind, you are _not_ alone, and I will consider it a personal insult if you keep on saying that. Understood?” Dave nodded silently. “Good. As for whether you’re the only one… I don’t know. I don’t know why we haven’t heard of others like you, but there could be plenty of reasons for that.” Of course, many, many of those potential reasons were, to put it kindly, not good, but Kurt wasn’t about to bring that up. “But if we don’t know, then the answer isn’t ‘no.’ There’s not enough proof to assume you’re the only one right now. Think about it: what if they have different powers than yours? What if those powers let them hide well enough to avoid detection?” Dave raised both eyebrows, and seemed to be mulling it over. Kurt eagerly went on. “But the big reason to hope is, well, you. You exist. You’re living proof that psychic powers are possible. Just by living, Dave, you’re upsetting the entire scientific understanding of what humanity can do.” The look on Dave’s face was part fascinated, part horrified, and part smug — an interesting mix. “Like you said, there are thousands of children born every day. If it can happen once, then almost by definition it’s possible that it can happen again… Unless you were born in a UFO or some other strange place you haven’t told me about.”

Dave laughed. “I think my parents would’ve mentioned _that_.”

"Then you get my point. Don’t borrow trouble, as my grandma used to say. Don’t assume you’re alone without evidence. You’ll just make yourself miserable that way."

"Yeah." He was silent for a moment, that "deep thoughts" look not leaving him. "So… What do you think I should do? With my power, I mean? I know I keep joking about being a superhero, but the idea… Being able to help people like that, the way you’re helping me… On the other hand, I’d be the first one, which means I’d be getting a lot of attention…"

"Maybe from the wrong people. Right."

"And suppose I went to college and got a job, the way I’m ‘supposed’ to. The power is this whole other part of my life that has nothing to do with the rest. It’s like… I have to make decisions for _two_ lives. I have enough trouble making them for one! How the hell am I supposed to do that?”

 _Good question_. “One step at a time, I guess,” Kurt said with a shrug. “You have enough to worry about right now. Like I said, don’t borrow trouble. The time will come when you have to make a decision soon enough anyway. You have to prioritize, and right now, the best use of your time and thought is training.” Kurt considered for a moment; was Dave’s acceptance of his talent far along enough to say this? _I think so. I hope so._ “And maybe… while you can… you should… enjoy it.”

Dave blinked. “Enjoy… it?”

"Yeah, now that your control is getting stronger. You have a… gift, Dave. You can do something that no one else in the world can do. If you’re stuck with it, you might as well see the positives, you know? Try to get whatever good feeling you can out of it. It’s all a part of self-acceptance, and that’s really important for you right now. Who knows, maybe it’ll help you figure out what to do with it."

Dave’s eyes turned faraway, but he wasn’t resisting. _This is… good._ Once Dave saw that he was capable of controlling his power, of course the fear was reduced. But at the same time, that past fear probably kept him from even considering questions like “what do I do?” and “how can I use it?” and “is there anything positive that can come out of it for me?”. It would take time — maybe a lot of time — but he felt more confident than ever that with a little help, Dave could confront those questions… maybe even answer them. When Dave finally responded, it had been so long that Kurt was a little startled. “I… I have to think about it. It’s kind of a lot.”

"And it’s important. It’s your life. Take the time you need, Dave." Kurt could almost see some of the tension leave Dave’s shoulders, but he knew it’d be back, probably sooner rather than later, and it was a saddening thought. Kurt resolved to keep it away from his friend as long as possible. "Anyway, back to important glee club related issues." Dave groaned aloud; Kurt chuckled. "You really should come see us perform. Give you a better idea of what we do."

"I think I’ve got a pretty good idea of what you do. But I’ll be there. Gotta support my girlfriend, after all."

"Well, of course you should. If you didn’t— wait, what?"

"Since I’m helping Santana run for prom queen, we gotta be seen as a ‘power couple’." Dave heaved a deep sigh. "So we are now officially dating."

"What?! Okay, that is going way too far. The nerve of her! I’m going to give her a piece of my mind, and—"

"Don’t, Kurt. If I don’t do what she wants, I think she really will do it. Out me, I mean. And probably not care at all."

"All the more reason to stop her! She can’t get away with this! I—"

"Kurt." His outrage petered out at the single word, at its steadiness and quiet strength (strength that he knew all along Dave had, but that he was always glad to see expressed, even if it was for Santana in this case). "I don’t mind going along with it."

"Why not? Are you afraid of what will happen if she outs you? Because if you are, I can—"

"It’s not that. Well, it’s not _just_ that. I’m not ready to come out yet, but… Let’s just say that she has her reasons, and that I at least understand them.” Once again, Kurt got a mental image of a quiet conversation in a coffee shop, unheard words being spoken between two young people who couldn’t be more different in his mind. “Let me go along with this. At least for now. Okay?”

Kurt nodded slowly. “I still don’t like it, but if you really don’t mind, I’ll keep my mouth shut. For now,” he added pointedly. “But if she starts exploiting you, or steps _one_ toe out of line…”

Dave nodded. “Gotcha. Thanks, Kurt.”

"Of course." It was then that the thought struck him. "Wait. If you’re ‘dating’ Santana…" He shuddered at the word. "… And she’s doing this to win prom queen… Then _you’re_ running for prom _king_.”

"Yeah. And?"

Kurt took a breath. “Have… What do you think of Stephen King?”

"The writer? I’ve heard of him, but I’ve never read his stuff."

"What about the movies based on his books?"

Dave shook his head. “Never seen ‘em. Why do you ask, anyway?”

Kurt gulped. “Oh… no reason…”

* * *

**The Old College Try**

"Sorry I’m late," Dave gasped as he tossed his backpack onto the floor. "My dad’s been running me fucking ragged."

"Doing anything in particular?"

"College stuff. He’s having me pick, like, a dozen schools all across the country to apply to."

"Good ones?"

Dave glared. “I’m not stupid, Hummel.”

"I— I didn’t say…"

The glare turned into a guffaw. “Nah, I’m just messin’ with ya. But yeah, they’re… okay. Not Harvard or anything, but not Lima Community College, either.”

"Anything in Ohio?"

"Nope," was the immediate reply.

"So you’re getting out." Kurt nodded approvingly. "Good. Lima’s too small for people like us."

"Yeah." Dave’s mouth was a thin, tight line.

"Okay, what’s the matter?"

Dave groaned. “Shit, how the fuck do you do keep doing that? I gotta work on my fucking game face.”

Kurt shrugged. “I know your biggest secret. I’ve seen you at your most vulnerable. I’ve been teaching you as best I can for months now. Of course I’m going to pick up on these things.”

"And that’s exactly it. The problem, I mean." Dave heaved a sigh. "You want to go to New York, right?"

"Of course. Broadway has been my dream for years. The fact that it’s also a fashion capitol doesn’t hurt either. What does this have to do with what you were thinking about?"

"It’s just… when we graduate, and you go to New York… What’ll we do?"

 _Oh_. “Well, I… Uh… I’m afraid… I hadn’t really thought about that yet…”

"It’s okay. I know this thing was just kind of dropped in your lap all of a sudden. But it’d make me feel a lot better if I knew what was going to happen after next year."

"Well…" Kurt began carefully, "there’s always the Internet. And you’ve made so much progress that I think you could do really well on your own now…"

"I wish I had your confidence. I just… Even if we’ve made a lot of progress, I still don’t feel like I have a complete handle on this thing, and… Do you think we can make this work long distance?"

Kurt had to admit that a lot of Dave’s progress was in comparison to where he began, which was at absolute zero, and the fact that the constant use of his power gave it less opportunity to run wild. But he’d also noticed a somewhat disturbing trend that he hadn’t yet mentioned to Dave: despite their regular training schedule, it seemed to Kurt that every time they met, it took more and more effort to “burn off” Dave’s power to acceptable levels. What if it overwhelmed the training or their attempts to control it? What if they ended back up at square one… or worse? Was that truly something that could be handled online… or alone?

So really, what choice did he have? Besides, it wasn’t like a Hummel to walk away from a task half done. That wasn’t the way his dad operated, and that wasn’t the way he did things either. Thus, he found it (somewhat surprisingly) easy to say, “You know… Have you thought of coming to New York too?”

A look akin to horror sprang on Dave’s face. “I— I—”

"You flatter me, Dave," Kurt said with a put-upon look.

"No! It’s not you! It’s just… New York’s your dream. How the hell can you follow your dreams if you’re babysitting me too? You’re already spending so much of your free time with me, I have no idea how the fuck you get your homework done…"

"Very late at night. But that’s not important."

"Not impor—!"

"Not important," Kurt said. "Look, I’m going to New York. That’s a given, no matter whether there’s a school there that’ll take me or not. The simplest thing to do is for you to apply for schools in New York too. We can meet during our free time (and I resent you calling it ‘babysitting,’ by the way) just like now. In fact, that’d be ideal, because we already know it works here. Nothing has to change."

"Nothing has to change…" Dave repeated softly. He bit his lip, then opened his mouth. He closed it again, then said, "Well, a couple of the schools on my list are in New York…"

"Then there you go! I see no reason why we can’t continue as long as you need."

"I guess…"

"You guess? What’s the problem?"

"It’s just that you’ve given up so much for me already, and now I’m feeling kind of guilty for bringing this up at all, because now you’ll have to keep on doing it…"

Kurt shook his head. “ _You’d_ be the one following _me_. You’re the one who’d come to New York even if you really want to go to California or whatever. So you’d make a sacrifice too. And you don’t _have_ to come either. Maybe it’d be better to go to whatever school you’d feel best at, and the lessened stress would make up for the distance. We’ve got another year to figure it out. Why don’t we see how this goes?”

Dave nodded slowly. “Yeah. Okay.”

"Good. Now let’s get to work. I want to see if you’ve been practicing—" He yawned, feeling his jaw stretching to near dislocation.

"You okay?"

"Yes, I’m… I’m fine."

"You sure? ‘Cause I can—"

"Yes, I’m sure. I wish you’d trust me once in a while. I’m fine."

* * *

**Face Down in the Chicken Parmesan**

"Kurt?"

Kurt’s head snapped up with enough force to nearly give him whiplash. A disturbing feeling — even more so for the fact that he hadn’t even realized that his head was down to begin with. As far as he could remember, one moment he was having a perfectly normal dinner with the family, and the next, he was getting concerned stares from the rest of the table.

"Yes…?"

"You fell asleep, buddy," his father said gently.

Kurt’s mouth was an O of horror. “Oh. Oh, god, I’m so sorry. It’s just been a rough week. I’ll go to bed early tonight. I’ll be fine.”

He was so determined to prove that he wasn’t bored to torpor by diving eagerly into his food that he missed the glance shared by his dad and Carole. But he couldn’t help but notice that when she and Finn cleared the table and retreated into the kitchen to wash dishes, his father stayed behind.

"Kurt…"

"Dad, I’m fine," he said, even as he was completely aware that his insistence wasn’t exactly helping his case. "With homework and Nationals, I’ve just been really busy…"

"If that’s so, then maybe you need to take a break from the glee club…"

"No! I mean, I’m keeping up with my schoolwork just fine, and the glee club’s actually been great for relieving stress through song, you know? I’m getting enough sleep—"

"Now I _know_ that’s a lie,” his father said sternly, crossing his arms. “I’ve heard you doing homework or tossing and turning past midnight.” He leaned forward with an earnest look. “It can’t be just school and the glee club… I’ve never seen you like this before. What’s going on, son?”

He wanted to talk. Oh, God, he wanted to talk so bad. He wanted to talk about all the nights spent trying to figure out how to advance Dave’s training, the hours laying awake in bed wrestling with existential and philosophical questions aroused by Dave’s very existence. He wanted to ask whether he and Dave were becoming codependent somehow, or whether that was just a symptom of the very real isolation this secret was creating. He wanted his dad’s advice on how to handle his knowledge, and how to protect them all if it somehow got out. He wanted to ask if he and Dave would ever be truly safe.

Most of all, he wanted to share his burden with _someone_. If he couldn’t share it with his own dad, someone he trusted and loved unconditionally, he couldn’t share it with anyone at all. He and Dave would truly be alone.

"I’m fine, Dad, really. Just a lot on my mind. I’ll get enough rest, I promise."

His father was silent for a moment, but eventually nodded — slowly and reluctantly, but he nodded. “Okay. Just come to me if you need help, all right?”

"I will." The lie was ashy on his tongue.

He’d never needed help so much in his life.

* * *

**Nightmare Scenario**

Kurt was jolted out of exhausted slumber by “Look to the East,” a song by an indie band he’d found online — not his usual cup of tea, musically, but appropriate nonetheless. He snatched his phone up from the bedside table; the screen read 1:21 am. Thank God it was a Saturday. Already fully awake, he accepted the call. “Dave?”

"K-Kurt…" The voice was wet and choked, confirming Kurt’s worst fears. Dave would never have called at this hour unless…

"Dave, what’s the matter? Are you okay?"

"I’m fine, but… Never mind, I’m sorry, I’ll talk to you in the morning…"

"If you were fine, you wouldn’t have called to begin with. I’m awake anyway, so you might as well tell me."

Dave didn’t answer, but Kurt could hear shuffling about, creaking, even the tinkling of what sounded like broken glass. “I… had a bad dream.”

"And?" he asked at once.

"I…" In the background, there was a sharp snap. "I… reacted kinda badly."

Kurt was now bolt upright in bed. “You mean…?”

"Yeah." It was a defeated word.

Kurt wiped a sudden bead of sweat off his upper lip. “I’m coming over.”

"What?! Do you know what time it is?"

"You should’ve thought of that before you called. I have to see this for myself, Dave. I also want to get your impressions while they’re still sharp in your mind. Write down as much as you can remember about your nightmare, right now."

"But—"

"I think this could be important. Don’t try to stop me. Is there a way I can sneak in?"

"I…" Dave sighed, his breath hissing along the connection. "Yeah. I’ll unlock the kitchen door. You remember how to get to my bedroom from there?"

"Back stairs. I’ll be there as soon as I can." He was, in fact, halfway dressed by this time; he jumped on one foot to get into his jeans even as he held his phone to his ear. "In the meantime, try doing your breathing exercises. I know this is scary, but it isn’t the end of the world either, okay?"

"O-okay. I’ll see you soon."

Sneaking out was a lot more mindless than he’d thought it would be; he was too concerned for Dave to give it more than cursory care. He was on the road within minutes, just barely over the speed limit so as to not get caught by an inconvenient cop. Kurt was at the Karofsky house twenty minutes later. It loomed over him, dark except for a single light on in the attic — Dave’s room. As he got out of the car, a chilly gust blew past; Kurt pulled his jacket tighter over his chest.

He made his way up the lawn and to the back of the house, where he found the kitchen door unlocked as promised. With practiced ease, he made his way through the obstacle course that was the darkened kitchen and dining room and up the back stairs. He finally slowed at the main hallway, carefully stepping his way past the closed door of Dave’s parents’ room to the back, where the attic stairs awaited. These Kurt took two at a time until he was at the top, a line of light leaking out from under the closed door there. Without so much as knocking, he threw the door open.

In the past, Kurt had calmed Dave down from a few “telekinetic outbursts,” as he put it — times in which Dave’s power manifested by itself when he was angry or upset. But these had always happened while Dave was awake, and was thus of limited scope, fortunate for all involved. What Kurt found in that bedroom was the result of a sleeping episode — one that he’d heard about from Dave, but never seen… until now.

Kurt had lived in the same room as Finn Hudson, so he thought he knew messes. But this… Books were scattered all across the floor. Every drawer was open, their contents protruding like mountain ranges in miniature. Pictures were torn from the wall; the glass on one (a portrait of the Karofsky family) had shattered upon impact with the opposite wall. The closet door was wide open, clothes spilling from it like a trail of vomit. In the center of it all was Dave, dressed in a plain white t-shirt and blue boxer shorts, dejectedly holding a limp shirt in each hand.

"I keep trying to put away everything that’s breakable, just in case," he said hoarsely, "but if I put away too much, my parents notice."

"How long has it been since—?"

"Months," Dave said, dropping the shirts onto the floor. "Not since before you…" He kicked at the debris at his feet, glaring as if it had personally offended him.

Kurt didn’t respond. Instead he knelt down and started picking up clothing.

"What are you—?"

"Do you want the help or don’t you?" Kurt said primly. "Unless you plan to keep your parents out of this room for the rest of the weekend, I suggest you take it. Unless your room is like this all the time."

Dave snorted; it was a strained sound, as if it’d been literally pulled from him. “Okay. Thanks.”

For a while, Kurt let Dave have his silence, broken only by the occasional perfunctory direction along the lines of “Just toss those in the corner; it’s just laundry” or “I’ll pick those up in the morning”. The floor was about halfway cleared before Kurt finally asked. “So what happened?”

Dave froze in mid-reach towards a fallen hockey stick. “My mom.” That was almost enough explanation in of itself, but he continued. “She wanted me to volunteer with her for our church carnival again this year.”

Ah, yes, Dave’s church — the one run by the outspokenly conservative pastor. Kurt had encouraged him to leave, but Dave hadn’t felt he could yet without drawing unwanted attention from his mother. “And…?”

"The money this year is going to Father Mitchell’s camp." Dave looked up; it was only then that Kurt noticed how red his eyes were. "You know, the one that converts gays."

"Oh." The word came out awfully small and weak.

"I couldn’t take it anymore. I told her I wasn’t going to help. In fact, I was gonna stop going to St. Luke’s." Dave inhaled. "We had a huge argument. Like, really bad. My dad kept trying to smooth things over… By taking her side, of course." Dave’s hands clenched into fists; the closet door creaked. "Oh, yeah, he wanted her to calm down, but he kept asking me, why can’t I compromise? ‘You don’t have to volunteer, but please, David, church means so much to your mother.’" His voice was low and mocking; Kurt had never heard Dave’s father’s voice, but assumed it was supposed to be him. "Mom actually thought that Jack ‘put all kinds of wrong ideas’ in my head — ‘cause he’s a hippie liberal, y’know. I was yelling and she was yelling and Dad was just talking over both of us and I just couldn’t take it, I had to get out of there. I came up here… Lucky for me neither of them tried to follow me. I tried letting out the power and doing the meditation before I fell asleep but it didn’t help and I… Aaagh!" With a cry of rage and frustration, he swung at the air with his fists. A pile of clothes, neatly folded by Kurt and stacked in a corner, erupted, scattering every which way.

"Dave…" Kurt gingerly inched forward. "Dave, listen to the sound of my voice," he said gently. Dave lowered his arms; he was breathing heavily, but he seemed to be listening. "I’m going to be your meditation guide, okay?" Dave nodded dumbly as Kurt sat on the floor, legs crossed; the other slowly followed suit. "Close your eyes. The only things you can hear are my voice and your breath…"

To be frank, Kurt felt like they both needed the relaxation; he even had to struggle a little not to fall asleep. But by the time they finished — it had to have been at least half an hour or so — he opened his eyes to a visibly calmer Dave, no longer trembling with barely suppressed anger. Kurt let out his own breath of relief.

"Do you feel like talking some more?" he asked quietly.

"I…" Dave cocked his head slightly, as if taking some kind of internal inventory. "Yeah. I think I sort of have to."

"What did you dream about?"

Dave winced. “It was… fucked up. It was like a bunch of movie scenes one after another. In one of them, I was strapped to an operating table. One doctor was shocking me trying to find out where my power was coming from, the other was shocking me so I’d stop being gay. Then there was one where I was at school, and everyone was running away from me screaming. I tried to grab them with my power, but every time I tried, they’d… explode.” His breath was heavy now, but not racing as before. Kurt decided to wait. “There was another where I was an actual honest to God superhero with spandex and everything, and I was trying to save… someone… but every time I’d fail, and y— they’d die over and over and over again, and… There was more, but it was _all_ like that.” His hands gripped his knees in a red-knuckled grip; he laughed bitterly. “You know what’s funny? Before dinner, I was thinking about telling them. I wasn’t sure at all that I’d _do_ it, but I was actually thinking about it.”

"Telling them about… your power?"

Dave nodded. “I thought I’d say first that I had something really important to tell them, but that it’d be better if I showed them… Then I’d move a plate or the water glasses or something, then if they thought that was a trick I’d start moving other stuff, like the stuff in the china cabinet or maybe even the whole dinner table… Then I’d have someone else to share this goddamn secret with… someone else I could actually talk to about it besides you… No offense.”

"None taken," Kurt said quietly.

"But now… fuck it. I’m not even gonna fucking come out to them — I can only imagine the shitstorm that’d cause." He straightened his spine, putting on a face that Kurt recognized as one Karofsky wore all the time: arrogant and aloof. "I can get through another year and a half. Then I’ll be gone. They don’t have to know anything. Screw them. I can make it on my own. I can handle this on my own. I…" The first tear shattered the illusion; he wiped it away violently. "I can…" He shook his head, eyes squeezed so tightly that the moisture pooled at their edges. "I…" He turned away, but Kurt grabbed his shoulder and forcibly turned him back. "Goddammit, Kurt…" Dave’s voice was high and strangled. "Why did this have to happen? Why don’t my parents— I— Fuck…!"

Dave buried his face in his hands, his shoulders heaving with sobs. Kurt reached out to embrace him, but hesitated. Instead, he just rested a hand on Dave’s shoulder and squeezed, waiting for the tears to wring themselves out.


	6. Chapter 6

**Karofsky and Santana for Junior Prom Royalty**

"'Karofsky'? She couldn't even use your first name?" Kurt muttered to himself. He shook his head as he looked over the poster. "And did she really have to use _that_ photo, David? I mean, seriously..."

Someone behind him laughed. "Nice outfit, Karofsky!" Kurt turned, and yes, that was Dave Karofsky striding down the hall wearing a bargain basement satin jacket and... Oh, God, a red beret. He carefully schooled his features into neutrality as Dave stalked up.

"Good morning, David..." His voice was strained and high.

Dave rolled his eyes. "It's okay, Kurt. Go ahead and laugh."

Kurt doubled over in his mirth as Dave sighed, crossed his arms, and waited, glaring at passing classmates who snickered along. It took a while, probably longer than Dave wanted, for Kurt to finally straighten, his chuckles and tears subsiding. Kurt wiped his face. "Sorry... I'm sorry, Dave..."

"No big deal," he grumbled rather insincerely.

"So I have to ask...?"

"I'm a Bully Whip." He showed the name sewn onto the jacket chest, his voice taking on a portentous, announcer-like timbre. "My job is to protect these halls from the scourge of bullies."

Kurt barely managed to stifle more giggles. "Well, you certainly have the... skills to be a vigilante."

"Oh, I'm not a vigilante. Full approval from Figgins and everything. Santana made sure of that."

"Ah, I should've detected her Eve Harrington-like hand in this."

"Who?"

Kurt clucked his tongue. "Oh, David David David... So much to learn..."

Dave snorted. "Anyway, this is part of her plan to get votes for prom queen. 'Make us look good by doing something for the geeks and losers. Get a jump on their votes.'"

"I see. So have you whipped any bullies yet?"

Dave smiled a smile with _way_ too many teeth, and Kurt shuddered. Was it some kind of flashback? "Actually, yeah. I stopped Eddie Richmond from tossing a Slushie at an AV club member. In fact..." Here Dave's voice dropped into a low, conspiratorial rumble. "Since he's always been such an asshole, a tree branch just _unfortunately_ broke and fell right on top of his new Honda."

As if by some sense of divine comedic timing, a high pitched shriek sounded from the direction of the parking lot. Dave snickered, only for his face to completely drop at the force of Kurt's glare.

"Dave..."

"What? Richmond was the one who slapped that note on your back the first day of school, remember? He's a complete douche!"

"Yes, he is," Kurt said in a low whisper, "and yes, I remember the note... and all his little pranks over the years. But that doesn't mean that I approve of you using your power to harm others in any way, even those who deserve it. It's a slippery slope, and I don't want to see you lose sight of who you really are."

"Oh, yeah? Tell me, Sensei, who am I really?"

Kurt inhaled sharply and looked around; there were students milling about, but no one was paying them any particular mind, aside from the occasional side-eye at Dave's outfit. So he said, "A basically good person who's made mistakes in the past. Someone who needs to remember where he came from so he doesn't go back. Someone who has the ability to bring more good into the world instead of more unhappiness. Someone who wants to be a hero, and someone I want to see become one."

Dave stared silently for a long moment. Then he sighed. "You're good."

"Benefits of a good drama education."

"Okay, fine. I'm a Bully Whip now, so I guess I gotta set a good example."

"Indeed."

"Can I at least go outside and laugh at Richmond?"

"Of course not!"

"Aw."

"I'm going to do it for you!"

"Video?"

"No!"

"..."

"Oh, _fine_."

"Awesome."

* * *

**Reaching Out**

"I have... this friend..." Kurt began. Ms. Pillsbury nodded encouragingly. "And I really do mean a friend," he added hastily. "I'm just not saying that to cover up for myself."

"I understand," she said. "Go on."

Kurt paused, trying to adjust his carefully rehearsed wording in his head, even as his instincts screamed at him to make apologies, get up, and leave _right now_. But frankly, he was desperate. He wanted — no, _needed_ — to at least get a little of this pressure off his chest to _someone._ If it had to be Ms. Pillsbury, and if it had to be cloaked in painstakingly constructed language, so be it.

"He's going through a... really tough time in his life, and I've been helping him. In fact, I'm the only one who can. And I'm happy to do it... I think we've both learned and grown a lot from it... But..." Kurt sighed. "I... I'm just so tired. It's so much stress, on top of my normal life, and I don't see getting out of it anytime soon, and I'm starting to wonder if I'm ever going to be free, but I feel guilty every time I think that because he really does need me and..." He was babbling; he knew that. He hadn't said so much in one breath in a long time. "Maybe the worst part is that I think he's thinking the same thing, and sometimes I'm not sure if he's lying about how he's doing because he doesn't want me to feel more obligated. But I am already, and I can't back out, but at the same time that just makes me feel trapped and..." His hands gripped the armrests of the chair. "I just don't know what to do..." he said in a voice so small and weak he immediately hated himself for it.

Ms. Pillsbury regarded him thoughtfully for a long moment. Then she carefully folded her hands delicately on the polished desktop in front of her. "Kurt..." she began, "I think it's wonderful that you care so much for your friend. But at the same time, you need to live your own life. You can't just give and give to others all the time. If he's in a state of constant crisis, sometimes it's better to step back and—"

"I can't," Kurt said immediately.

"Does he tell you that?"

"No! Hell, now sometimes I think he wants to push _me_ away, try to handle it on his own. But before I came, he was... doing really badly, and neither one of us wants him to go back to that dark place."

Ms. Pillsbury frowned for a moment, but continued. "Sometimes people need to work out their own problems. You can't feel responsible for everything someone else does and feels. If you took time for yourself — just yourself — and something happened, it wouldn't be your fault..."

_Yes it would. Besides, who's to say whatever happens to him wouldn't touch me too, just because I_ know _?_ "You don't understand," he said, even as he realized that it was his fault that she didn't. "This is a real problem, and he does need help."

"Even if that's true, there are other resources. Professionals..."

"No."

"There are so many online support groups these days..."

"No."

"If he's a student here, he could see me, or the counselor at his—"

Kurt shook his head so hard he could feel his brain slosh around in his skull. "Ms. Pillsbury, please. I can't give you any details, but he can't do any of that. Not for this. There is _literally_ nowhere else he can turn. I'm the only one."

"We all think that sometimes, Kurt, but trust me, there is so much help available now for _any_ problem that I don't think you have to—"

" _Please_!" he cried, slamming clenched fists onto the armrests. Ms. Pillsbury jumped a little in her chair, and there came the guilt again. His anger was completely irrational, and was probably feeding Ms. Pillsbury's mistaken read on his situation. But she was insulting Dave, insulting him (again, irrational much?), and maybe this whole idea was a mistake... He forced his fists to loosen. "I'm sorry. It's just that... It's hard to explain without betraying his trust..." _Not to mention risk either getting put into a mental hospital or a visit from black helicopters..._ "... But just for the sake of discussion, could you just trust me a little? That I'm telling the truth? That I'm not misreading the situation or just forgetting about the rest of the world?" He swallowed back a lump in his throat. "Please?"

There was another moment of silence; the guidance counselor appeared not to even move. Finally, she nodded slowly. "All right... But I'm not sure how much I can help if you can't give me more detail, or even a reason why you can't take certain steps that appear to me to be reasonable and realistic..."

Kurt felt tension leave his shoulder blades. "I appreciate any help you can give under the circumstances," he said.

"All right, then. It seems to me you're under a lot of stress..."

He suppressed a snort. "Yes," he said, a lot more acid in the word than he'd thought possible.

"... So did letting it out help? At least being able to express your fears and frustration to a reasonably objective listener?"

Kurt had certainly hoped so, but did it? He took mental stock, and came to an inescapable conclusion. "Yes. Yes, it did."

Ms. Pillsbury nodded with a smile. "Then that's where I'd start. Your friend probably doesn't have just one problem, does he?"

Kurt thought of the night Dave's power went out of control, remembered that it had not started because he was telekinetic. "Not hardly."

"Then I think he should seek help for those... Help that is not you, I mean. That will free up mental and emotional room and relieve stress for both of you. If you really feel that you're the only one who can help him with his... main issue, then I think that you'll be better equipped to deal with it if he has fewer of his other problems weighing on him." She cast a searching eye on him. "And I would suggest the same for you. Feeling trapped is not a good place to be, and I'd guess that you agree, or you wouldn't have come to me to begin with." Kurt could only nod. What else could he do? "We could talk about time management, for example. Or college applications, or emotional needs. Whatever helps you. Maybe at some point, you'll feel more comfortable in giving me more details." _Not a chance_. "And if your friend attends McKinley, don't worry; so many students stop by for so many reasons that I wouldn't be able to tell which one he is. Sound good?"

It did, actually, better than he could've hoped. "Yes."

"But first, I want to say one thing, and I promise this is the last time I'll mention it unless you ask me..." Kurt steeled himself. "I still think you need to put yourself first, and that you're underestimating the amount of resources available for your friend, no matter what his problems are. I think that if you let him go — even if it's just for a little while — you'll find that he has a lot more people to turn to than you think, and that you'll both feel a lot better."

Kurt gave a brittle nod. "I appreciate your advice, Ms. Pillsbury, but I'd rather not argue any more about that."

"That's fine, I've said my piece. What do you want to talk about?"

Oh, there was so much: preparing for New York, looking for performing arts colleges there, dealing with Nationals nervousness, his bitter and complete lack of a love life...

But all of his _important_ questions were about Dave. And telekinesis.

Oh, God, he really was screwed, wasn't he?

* * *

**Prom Queen**

Kurt smoothed down his kilt as he wended his way through the crowds, making sure to swoop in on any New Directions girl to chat once they were done dancing. They all looked spectacular, of course — God, he was good.

When none were available, he sipped at his punch (served upon his first minute in; he'd overheard Puck and Artie whispering about it, and did _not_ trust either one of them), observing the happy couples milling about. The only reason he'd bothered to come (and come stag, like a sad pathetic single _loser_ ) was dancing with Santana at that moment. No matter how hard he tried, images of pig's blood and fire and _death_ kept running through his mind, because come on: telekinetic teenager, prom at a judgmental high school... It wasn't hard to make the connection. Not that he didn't felt guilty about it, because he should've had more faith in Dave and his own competence. But when they were both flying blind, when the power just seemed to keep on growing stronger and stronger... It was a little difficult to keep that faith.

For what it was worth, his presence seemed to be helping; he kept catching Dave taking glances in his direction. Dave was apparently taking some comfort in his presence, knowing that Kurt would be a tether in case his power started to manifest somehow. That had been a concern of late; Dave had started to notice how much easier it was becoming to lift heavier loads and manipulate multiple items at once. "I thought it was because of the training..." he'd said in a trembling voice, "but it's not... is it?"

"Dave..."

"Oh, God, why didn't I figure it out before? I'm... it's getting stronger, isn't it? Is it... Is it ever going to stop?"

"Dave, calm down..."

"What if it just keeps growing? What if I can't control it? Fuck, I can feel it _right now_ and it's getting harder to hold it back..."

" _Dave!_ " Kurt's backpack had started to lift off the ground. Uncontrolled manifestation... It'd been weeks, and its return did not herald anything good. Kurt had managed to get him through some meditation, and that had helped, but not nearly enough. That led to an agreement of more training time, more research in relaxation techniques, more searching for places Dave could really cut loose without fear of discovery... And all that, of course, led to just more stress and sleepless hours. Even with delegating as much as he could to Dave, he still took on the lion's share himself; he was by far the better and more objective planner. Kurt had covertly discovered energy drinks during this time, and while they helped, his heart was already starting to protest, and since heart problems tended to run in families...

_It's almost summer. Then your load will be cut significantly. You'll be able to relax a little. You'll be able to breathe_.

It was a more comforting thought than he'd anticipated, and it'd helped him get through nights when he just felt like breaking down and crying. Like tonight... Although his reason now was more because of that hideous dress Brenda Milholland was wearing. Great Versace in the sky, what on Earth was she _thinking_...?

"If everyone will gather around..." New Directions was off the stage (Kurt had taken a few songs, because hell, it wasn't like he had anything better to do, right?), and Principal Figgins' voice was reedy through the mike, mixed with feedback. "We will now announce our junior prom court."

There were two lines on stage, one of guys and one of girls. Finn was saying something to Dave, who was next to him; Dave responded with a silent shrug. Dave had archly asked Kurt one afternoon who he was planning to vote for. Kurt had airily responded that he was going to make a reasoned and rational decision based on platforms and stance on key issues. (Meaning, of course, he'd voted for Finn and Quinn, because while Dave was a friend, come on, family.)

Speaking of Finn... It was actually pretty lucky he was on stage at all. With all the glares he and Jesse St. James had been exchanging all evening, it was fortunate that neither of _them_ had psychic powers, or there would've been bloodshed long ago just from those dagger-filled looks. That was why Kurt gently asked Dave to "do something about it." And Dave apparently had — after the fifth girl complained to Coach Sylvester about a pinch to her backside when no one but Jesse was close by, he'd been unceremoniously booted out, over his vehement protests to both the Coach and a fuming Rachel that he hadn't done anything wrong. Maybe it was hypocritical, what with Kurt's lecture to Dave about being a hero, but as far as he was concerned, he was keeping the peace, making sure that trouble didn't develop (and it would have, had Finn and Jesse been allowed to stay within twenty feet of each other).

Plus, Jesse St. James was a gigantic asshole, so he deserved it anyway for his past crimes alone.

"Our 2011 McKinley Junior Prom King is..." Figgins' voice snapped Kurt out of his reverie just in time. "David Karofsky!"

Kurt applauded eagerly with the rest of the class of 2012 as Dave accepted his crown in triumph. He was a little surprised that Dave was so happy for this meaningless award, especially after Dave had long ago given up any idea of regaining his old popularity, but he realized he shouldn't have been. In the midst of dealing with being gay and having superhuman powers, this was a rare moment of normalcy for Dave, an increasingly unusual time when he could just forget about his sexuality and his talent, and just be a normal teenage boy, revel in something a normal teenage boy would find satisfaction in. How could Kurt possibly begrudge him that?

Santana had a not undeserved smug grin on her face; Kurt wondered for not the first time what their _thing_ was all about. He'd asked Dave off and on during training sessions, but he always remained mum, simply saying that he was "okay" with this scheme. Kurt was still as ignorant as to Santana's goals as he was in the beginning, but Dave at least _seemed_ like he actually was okay, so he let it slide. Luckily for her.

"And our 2011 McKinley Junior Prom Queen, with an overwhelming number of—"

Kurt still worried, though, that this might push Dave further into the closet. Even if his sexuality was a lesser secret and concern, it was still both for him, and being reminded of how much easier he was to accept as a heterosexual could encourage him to keep pretending. Still, Kurt could definitely understand not wanting the attention — especially with the risk that it could uncover his _other_ secret — so other than a few discussions of LGBT resources, he'd generally let the subject go. But it always remained in the back of Kurt's mind, and he resolved that someday, when Dave's power was under control and they could both relax for once, he'd broach the subject if—

"Kurt Hummel."

Huh? Why'd Figgins say his name? Wasn't he supposed to announce prom queen? Had he missed it? Why was everyone looking at him so oddly? And why did Mercedes and Sam look like they were ready to kill—

Oh.

_Oh_.

The bottom dropped out of Kurt's gut. Every instinct — every ounce of humiliation coursing through him like poison — told him to run, to hide, to get away from all those _eyes_... But he found enough strength to stand his ground, enough to instead look for Dave...

He was sitting on the king's throne... No, he was actually halfway out. His face was a mask of pure rage and oh God he saw it all so clearly: the pig's blood and the fire and the death...

Kurt wanted to cry out, to warn people, to stop Dave, but his throat, his precious and practiced throat, refused to budge a millimeter, not when he needed it most...

That was when the screaming began.

The water that cascaded from the sprinklers was dirty and stinky and _cold_. Students and chaperones alike were running for cover, guys with plastered hair and girls with mascara running down their cheeks. Kurt gawped, then dumbly looked down at his feet, at the eddies of water flowing around his shoes. It was only then that he was conscious that not a single drop of water was touching his head.

Nor did any fall on the stage, not that the fact kept it from emptying nonetheless. The only one left was Dave, staring darkly out at the now abandoned gym.

"Dave?" Kurt said tentatively, even as his adrenaline ran down and he began to feel remarkably stupid for having had so little faith in his friend and himself...

"Yeah?" His voice was only barely audible over the sound of running water. "Oh. Right." Several sprinklers shut off (or were their sprays deflected elsewhere? Kurt didn't want to look to find out), leaving a dry path to the stage. Kurt took it, joining Dave next to the dead mike.

"You know," Kurt said, trying to keep his voice light, "you probably cost the entire junior class hundreds of dollars in rental deposits."

"Don't care," he growled. "The bastards deserved it."

"Including my friends?"

Dave opened his mouth, then closed it again. His shoulders slumped. "Shit. I'm sorry, I didn't even think—"

"No, it's okay. If they knew, I'm sure most of them would say it was for a good cause." Kurt paused, looking out at the empty floor. "Too bad, though; I had a great line I was going to use."

"Do you think they know?" Kurt whirled towards the now fidgeting Dave. "That I'm... Is that why they voted me king with you...?"

"I... don't know. You've already made waves, blackmailing your teammates and doing the Bully Whips... It could be vengeance for that..."

"Maybe," Dave said. His eyes averted, then focused on Kurt. "Do you want to dance?" The question was followed by a disbelieving gasp — from the person who asked it.

Kurt blinked, unsure if he'd heard right. "Do I want to...?"

"You know that the prom king and queen usually dance..."

"Oh, not even Figgins would've made us—"

"And I keep thinking... It would've been my first time dancing... with a guy... And I couldn't help thinking that... I wanted to see what that was like..."

Kurt swallowed. "Dave, I—"

"It wouldn't mean anything, really," he cut in desperately. "I just... I'm getting fucking sick of secrets and I just wanted to know what it felt like to do something fucking gay for once and you're the best friend I have left and I figured..." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I figured... Ah, fuck, forget it, it was a stupid idea and—"

"No, it wasn't." Kurt had absolutely no idea where the words came from, but judging from the look on Dave's face, he was committed now, so what the hell. "So it wouldn't mean anything. So what? We are duly elected royalty, after all, and... You should have these kinds of experiences when you can. And since your options are limited... You're my friend, and I'd be happy to help." He extended a hand, trying to keep a smile on his face. "Shall we, my king?"

There was utter stillness, except for the water still showering around them. Then slowly, tentatively, Dave raised a trembling hand. It gently fell into Kurt's, sweaty and clammy; Kurt had to tune out the feel. The two moved closer, with the occasional muttered instruction from Kurt ("Hand on my shoulder... Stop fidgeting, seriously...").

The dance wasn't so much a dance as a turn-and-sway, but that was common enough amongst teenagers. The two didn't look each other in the eyes; Kurt wondered which of them felt more awkward. Without music, the rhythm was completely off, and there was a good inch between the fronts of their shirts. A little disappointing for Kurt's own first dance with a guy, but then, the purpose wasn't romance, so it was excusable. It certainly wouldn't hurt Dave to not be completely ignorant in the ways of gay once he finally started dating guys. And hey, Kurt himself certainly could've done worse; his first dance could've been with a girl. "So?" Kurt asked.

"Um..."

"Let's put it this way: how does this feel compared to Santana?"

"It..." Dave met his eyes for the first time. "It's kinda weird... But at the same time... It feels really right."

Kurt nodded in self satisfaction. "Good. Guess that confirms it, eh?" The showers around them were starting to subside. "Uh oh, they're finally turning off the water." He briskly broke their hold and began striding towards the doors. "We'd better join the others before someone gets suspicious."

"Yeah."

Kurt stopped short. The single word was so heavy and dull that he turned; Dave was looking back at him, looking perfectly normal. "Something the matter, Dave?"

He got a shrug in return. "Nah, not really," he said in a similarly normal voice. "Except that whole fucking prom queen thing. I fucking swear, if any of the guys had any part of it, I'll—"

"For their sakes, I hope not. But look at it this way: their little drenching will probably kill any after-party activities they had planned."

"Yeah... Yeah!" Dave practically cackled. "I like it! Dave Karofsky, ultimate cockblocker!"

Kurt laughed as the two slipped out of the gym. "Wear that title with pride, Dave."

It had been a night to remember. Then again, so had the Titanic.

* * *

**Just Asking Questions**

"So... you and Dave..."

Kurt turned to find Santana standing right behind him, leaning casually against a locker, a Cheshire grin on her face. His nerves were immediately on edge; it was the middle of a class period, and he'd been ambushed on the way to the bathroom. That meant no witnesses — which was both good and bad, all things considered. "Pardon?"

"Oh, come on, I have _eyes_ , you know, not to mention all the dates we went on. I figure there's gotta be a reason you haven't told anyone about the two of you."

"About the two of us what?" Kurt said with perfectly tuned casual innocence.

"But the prom? Definitely confirmed everything," she continued as if he hadn't said a word. "What, you didn't think I'd notice being left by my own 'boyfriend'?" She shook her head in mock sadness. "All I'm saying, Miss Hummel, is that you can have him now. Now that I'm not prom queen — and thank you _so_ much for that, by the way..."

"I didn't _want_ to be prom queen..." Kurt began snappishly.

"... We're going to have a tragic public breakup, and you two can go your merry gay way... Although the two of you would be so Beauty and the Beast that it's kind of funny..."

"Wait just a minute!" Kurt almost snarled. "I don't like your insinuations! First of all, Dave and I are _friends_ —"

"What, no shock that he'd be interested in guys?" Santana cackled. Kurt froze. _Oh. Dammit_. "So you _did_ know! I kind of thought so. Thanks for confirming. Anyway, I'm a little surprised, seeing as how you're all out and proud in public and he's so deep in the closet he's fighting for Aslan..."

Kurt finally managed to find his voice. " _Not_ that it's any of your business, but like I said, we're _friends._ Unlike some people who just want to _exploit_ him, I'm trying to help him. There is no... no _clandestine affair_ going on, and it's frankly offensive that you don't think two homosexual men can be friends without sleeping with each other!"

"Uh huh. That's why none of the others know that you and he are so buddy-buddy..."

"Dave is trying to work through some... very sensitive personal issues right now," Kurt said evenly. "And again, it's none of your business. Unfortunately."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that in case you haven't noticed, and you probably haven't, Dave doesn't have many friends right now. With the two of you working so closely together, I'd hoped that you two would find something in common, and maybe he'd have another ally in this place. But now I see that was just wishful thinking, so I'd _appreciate_ it if you let him down gently if you really are going to discard him like a used tissue. He doesn't need to think that he's some kind of pariah. As for his sexuality... Yes, that was careless of me. But I hope you have the human decency to keep it to yourself. He needs to come out on his own terms."

"Yeah, well, I'm sure he'll be fine, what with the man-candy waiting for him," Santana drawled.

Kurt's brow furrowed. "Well, yes, when he finally meets the right man, I'm sure he'll be fine. But that has nothing to do with the here and now. And right now, he's in a... sensitive state, and he doesn't need _you_ making things worse."

Santana stared at him in something resembling curiosity. "You really do consider him a _friend_... Don't you?"

"Yes, I do," Kurt sighed wearily, even as he wondered at the odd intonation. "And I'm surprised you don't too, with all the time you two spent together. Maybe if you'd actually look at others as people and not as chess pieces, you'd—"

He broke off mostly because he couldn't hear himself speak over Santana's laughter. She was leaning against the lockers, trembling in her hysteria, slapping her thigh repeatedly with an open palm. Kurt watched, jaw agape, as her mirth slowly wound down. Still giggling, she wiped her eyes with a tissue, shaking her head.

"O-Oh God, that explains _so_ much... _Madre de dios_ , that's rich..."

"What on Earth are you talking about?" Kurt demanded.

"Holy fuck, you're adorable." She patted Kurt's cheek condescendingly; he glowered in return. "Don't ever change." Finally catching her breath, she pushed off the lockers and squared her shoulders. "A little friendly advice, Aurora: it isn't _me_ you should be worrying about hurting Dave."

"Oh, really? Who should I be worrying about, then?"

Santana arched an eyebrow. "I am _so_ going to enjoy watching you figure that out."

Kurt stared at her as she walked away, more confused than ever. It was Santana, so he couldn't just dismiss her as a lunatic. But what in the world could she have meant?

For not the first time, he sorely wished he could've been a fly on the wall during all those evenings Dave spent with Santana. He was sure they would've been interesting...

* * *

**We Need to Take a Break  
**

"So have you made an appointment with Ms. Pillsbury yet?"

"I will!" Dave said. "Sheesh! Give me a little time here; she'll get suspicious if I suddenly pop up in her office right after you tell her about your friend that needs helping."

"And I told you that she has no way of knowing which of her many appointments is you. She doesn't even have a way of knowing you're at McKinley. So stop making excuses and make the damn appointment already."

"Okay, okay!" Dave shook his head. "You wouldn't be such a bitch if you'd won Nationals," he muttered under his breath.

"What did you say?"

"Nothing!" The two were hiking back to their cars after a wilderness training session; both were munching on apples — it'd become the official telekinetic training snack, with store-bought ones filling in during the winter. "Wait just a sec." Dave held out his hand with the core in it and closed his eyes for a moment. The core rocketed straight up into the sky; Kurt watched it ascend before losing it in the afternoon sun. "Wanna bet on how long it takes to come down again?"

"Sorry, no. I spent so much in New York City that I'll have to pull an extra shift in Dad's garage just to pay off my credit card bill." The two continued on their way. "But you really should make that appointment before the year ends. I know she's a little... odd, but I really do think it'll do you a lot of good to talk to someone. About things you _can_ talk about, I mean."

There was a moment or two of just shoes crunching against leaves before Dave replied. "Okay. Yeah. I'll do it on Monday."

"Good." Kurt paused to listen to the chirping of birds overhead before speaking again. "And I have a new homework assignment for you."

"Swell," Dave said sarcastically. "Lay it on me."

"Do something without me."

There was another pause. "What?"

"I meant what I said: do something without me. We've been associating nearly non-stop for months, and talking to Ms. Pillsbury, I'm starting to think that keeping that up without a break would be unhealthy. For both of us."

"What, Hummel, tired of me already?" The tone was light, but there was a shadow to it, a deeper quality that Kurt couldn't quite put his finger on.

"It's not that, Dave. It's just that circumstances don't give us a lot of choice right now, so we need to take the initiative and express our free will whenever we can. I don't want us to feel trapped with each other; that will just breed resentment. So we need to set aside time for ourselves, to do what we want without having to worry about your power. Go back to our normal lives once in a while, so we'll be better equipped to handle things. Sound good to you? I hope so, because it sounds damn good to me."

"Huh," Dave said thoughtfully. "I guess I see your point. You know, now that you mention it, it's been fucking ages since I've played hockey..."

"There you go! You've told me how much you enjoyed it, and physical activity is a great stress reliever. But whatever you do for leisure is fine. Only use your power if you want to or really need to. And hey, if that helps you work it into your daily life, so much the better."

"Yeah, I get it..." Dave nodded. "Then we should cancel Wednesday?"

"I think we can afford to. We'll pick up again next weekend, and just increase the intensity of the sessions we do have." Already Kurt could feel his batteries recharging. With a new, cheerful spring in his step, he continued to hike. "Speaking of extracurricular activities..."

"No, Kurt, I still haven't decided if I'm going to audition for your fucking glee club next year."

"If you decide you want to, I'll point out that we have an entire summer ahead to prepare you for the audition. Song selection is key, you know, if you want to show off your vocal range..."

"I thought you wanted us to spend _less_ time together?"

"This is _music_ , David. It's the... the food of _life_! Now, have you ever listened to Frank Sinatra...?" Dave suddenly began increasing his stride, power walking ahead. "Hey! Are you trying to beat me to your car so you can drive off before—? Dave? David!" Kurt began to run. "David Karofsky, don't you _dare_ try to escape while I'm talking—! _Dave!_ "


	7. Chapter 7

**Hypothetical**

"Suppose you were alone on a hiking trail like this. You hear a shout for help on a ridge below you..."

"Uh, this is Ohio, Kurt. This is, like, the flattest place on the planet."

"Shut up and use your imagination. Anyway, you look down, and you see an injured hiker who slipped down the ridge."

"A whole three inches? Wow, he must be hurt bad."

"Would it kill you to just go along with this? Back to the hiker: he needs immediate medical attention, and he's fully conscious. Do you use your telekinesis to help him?"

"Um... Do I have my phone?"

"No bars."

"Could I go back down the trail and get help?"

"You could, but leaving him there that long could put his life at risk. Not certain, but very possible."

"And I'm alone."

"Apart from the hiker, yes."

"And no way I could wait until he's asleep or convince him he's hallucinating."

"Probably not."

"He's hurt bad?"

"Yes."

Dave actually stopped walking. Kurt turned and waited patiently; Dave was staring out at the trees, as if actually looking for that unfortunate hiker. A wisp of wind tickled his hair. Finally, Dave turned back to Kurt. "Yeah. I'd help him. It might give me away... Or maybe I'd try to talk him out of saying anything. But if I let him die just so I could stay safe... I wouldn't be able to live with myself."

Kurt nodded. "I don't expect that you'll ever have to face that kind of decision, but just by you having that power, you have to ask yourself questions most of us never do."

"Yeah, I never was the most responsible guy. I'm definitely having to learn now." He continued down the trail, passing Kurt almost heedlessly; Kurt had to jog to catch up, his glare going unnoticed. Over half a mile of scenery passed until Dave spoke again. "I feel like... I should've answered quicker. Like right away, I'm gonna help that dude. Like I'm a bad person for even thinking of myself."

"You're not Superman, Dave. And even he wasn't entirely unselfish. No one is. None of us can be expected to sacrifice all the time, especially with the consequences you face. Why do you think I didn't say whether I agreed with your answer or not? It was a genuinely hard decision, and you shouldn't feel bad for weighing the chance of someone dying against the chance of you being thrust into an international spotlight or worse. That's not even considering the possibility that it might've been a trap..."

"Damn, I didn't even think about that. Shit, Kurt, you've got some kinda devious mind."

"Yeah, well, having my kind of school life tends to create paranoia." Kurt could hear Dave's footfalls stop cold, and knew at once. "And it wasn't just you, Dave. If it had been, McKinley wouldn't have been the miserable experience it was."

"That doesn't mean I should've contributed to it, though."

"No, it doesn't. But you stopped, and you're trying to fix it. Don't think that's nothing, because it's not. Besides, I seem to remember that you were an equal opportunity bully, especially when it came to Finn..."

"Yeah, we kinda... had a history."

"Huh. Want to talk about it?"

"Not right now."

"Fair enough." Kurt retrieved an apple he'd saved from his backpack and bit into it, chewing in silence.

"Kurt?"

He swallowed his food. "Yes?"

"What _would_ you have done with that hiker anyway?"

"Not saying."

"Why not?"

Why not indeed? Perhaps because he hadn't been able to come up with an answer that completely satisfied him? Because it made him that much more conscious of the hardship Dave faced just by being who he was? Because it made him wonder if he, Kurt, had what it took to help him face an uncertain future even a little? "Sensei privilege."

Dave grunted half-seriously. "One of these days that excuse ain't gonna fly."

"But that day is not today, David. That's all that matters."

* * *

**Wake Up Call**

"Mmm? 'Lo?"

"Ah, you're there, David. I was just about to leave a voicemail."

"Kurt...? What time is it...?"

"It's almost eleven, why do you— Dave! Don't tell me you were still asleep!"

"It's fucking summer, Hummel. The whole _point_ is to sleep in."

"When did you go to bed? What on Earth were you doing up late?"

"I was doing what you told me to do: whatever I wanted. I fucked around online, played Xbox... Don't tell me you're one of those 'early to bed, early to rise' freaks like my dad."

"Sleeping in is bad for the pores. Besides, there's nothing more beautiful than a sunrise."

"If I wanted to see the sun rise, I'd just film a sunset and watch it in reverse."

"Very droll, Dave. Anyway, I'm calling because I have the house to myself for the next few hours, and I thought we could have some lunch, then train."

"Yeah, sure, just gimme a few minutes to... Mmf..."

"Wake up? Yes, you do that. Maybe then you'll have a hope of catching up to everything I've already done while you were still in bed."

"Ugh... All up and cheerful before 7 and _I'm_ the freak?"

It took Dave almost forty five minutes to get to the Hummel house. Though Kurt had prepared more snide remarks, Dave arrived relatively awake and alert (even if he was grumbling about how morning people needed to be shot), so he shelved them for future use. After sandwiches and lemonade (during which time the two discussed the finer points of Jackie Chan vs. Jet Li), the two settled down to business. Dave grimaced as the deck of cards in front of him exploded across the living room floor. "I hate fucking 52 pickup," he grumbled.

"Not everyone can shuffle cards by hand either," Kurt said reassuringly. "It'll probably take some practice before you're able to exercise fine control with your mind."

"I suppose. But... do you really think we can keep up? What happens if the power gets so strong that... You know."

Kurt nodded. "I'm afraid I don't have any more answers than I did the last time we talked about this. But what I keep coming back to is, don't borrow trouble. Wouldn't you agree that we have enough to worry about right now? We can only deal with the problems right in front of us. We can plan, sure, but we'll go insane if we worry about every possible future."

"I know you're right, but... I want you to know that if I start putting people in danger... I'll leave."

The fine hairs on the back of Kurt's neck stood up. "Dave, no..."

"I don't want to hurt you, or my family, or anyone else. I can't be around you if there's the chance I'll—"

"Then what?" Kurt snapped. "Where will you go? Where can you go? Would you be some kind of mountain hermit or something?"

"If I have to," was the flat reply.

Kurt shook his head. "There's noble, Dave, and then there's just plain dumb. If things get that bad, there's no way you'd be able to get far enough away from people without isolating yourself entirely. Don't tell me you wouldn't go insane if you tried. And that's ignoring the fact that I'd never stop looking for you so I could personally kick your butt for being so incredibly stupid."

"You're already giving up and risking so much just by helping me," Dave said pleadingly. "Don't risk your life too."

"I think... No, I _know_ that we — that you — will be able to handle anything that happens." Kurt poured every ounce of confidence he could into his voice, even as he wasn't sure just how much he believed himself. "Now no more talk about running away and being a martyr. It's interfering with our here and now, and it's my job to keep you on track. Got it?"

"I... Fine, got it. It's useless trying to argue with you."

Kurt beamed. "See, you're learning!" Dave snorted. "Oh, hey, I keep forgetting to ask: are you and Santana going to bring on the Bully Whips again next year?"

Dave shook his head. "Doubt it. The only reason Santana kept up with it after prom was to 'let out aggression in a socially acceptable way.' I don't think I could do it on my own."

"Well, I think you could... Just not in public."

"... Yeah." Dave shifted uncomfortably. "Look, Kurt, I don't know how I could ever repay—"

"Oh, Lord, are we going over that again? I keep telling you that I don't need any reward for being a decent human being."

"Decent human—! As far as I'm concerned, you've gone _way_ fucking above and beyond _that_."

"And as far as I'm concerned, you're much too cynical. I come from a world where people _can_ keep serious secrets. Not most of New Directions, maybe, but they're not the only ones. Anyway, I think if you went out on a limb and trusted more, you'd be pleasantly surprised."

"Maybe, but not about... that. I think you're the only one in the world who could understand—"

"Understand what?" asked a voice that distinctly did not belong to Kurt or Dave.

The two young men whirled around to see Finn standing in the hall, staring at them with a remarkably Sam-like fish mouth.

"Finn! I... I didn't hear you come in..."

"I came in through the kitchen door..." His voice was distant, as if he were speaking through a rubber tube.

Kurt had long experience fighting through panic, but somehow this was the hardest test he could remember. He snuck a peek at Dave, who'd turned at least two shades whiter in mere seconds. Was it his imagination, or were some of the cards on the floor trembling? "H-how long have you been standing there...?"

"A while," was Finn's spectacularly unhelpful reply. There was a long moment of awkward silence before Finn finally turned to Dave. "Dude..."

Dave opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

That single question instantly deflated the tension — at least for Kurt and Dave. The two exchanged a glance, and Kurt could tell that Dave was also having to fight the urge to laugh in relief.

"And you!" Finn was addressing Kurt now, with an almost comical look of hurt betrayal. "How long have...? And what's this shit about secrets? I thought we were brothers. I thought you knew I'd have your back..."

"Finn, I—"

"Lay off him, Hudson," Dave growled. "He didn't tell you because it was about me, okay?"

"You?" Both Hudson-Hummel (or was it Hummel-Hudson? There were many good natured debates about that) brothers were staring at Dave now. Dave gave a short, almost imperceptible nod towards Kurt that somehow said everything. Kurt knew exactly what was about to happen, and his heart leaped in inordinate excitement.

"Yeah." Dave steeled himself visibly before saying, "I'm gay."

That was it. Not a moment of hesitation, not a stammer. Just simple and honest truth to one who hadn't known it before.

Finn's jaw almost literally dropped. Kurt chided himself for putting off the "not all gay men look and act the same" lesson. "S-seriously?" Finn squeaked.

"No, I just say it 'cause I like the way it sounds. Yeah, seriously."

"You mean you—"

"Like guys? Yeah."

"Even though—"

" _Yes_ , even though I'm on the football team."

"So, uh... So you're... like Kurt?"

"Dude, is _anyone_ like Kurt?"

"You got a point." Kurt sat silent, unsure whether he was just insulted or not. "It just... I just... You dated Santana!"

"Yeah, that was... That wasn't exactly, uh... real."

"If you're gay, no shit..." Finn's eyes flickered between the two young men on the floor. "Does that mean you two... are...?"

"What?" Kurt burst out. "No!"

"No, no..." Dave chimed in softly.

"I'm... tutoring him."

"On what? Gay stuff?"

"And why not? My sense of style may have come to me naturally, but I'm a rare case. We can't all be blessed with my innate fashion instinct, gay or straight."

"So... What's with the cards, then?"

"We were playing a game, of course, until you interrupted." Kurt fixed an imperious look on Finn that he hoped would cover up any holes in their tale, like the rather scattered nature of the cards being wholly unsuitable for practically any game besides Go Fish.

Finn looked from stepbrother to teammate and back again. "So this is really okay with you?"

Kurt groaned. "No, Finn, I invited him into our house while I was alone because I'm screamingly terrified of him. Of course it's okay."

"This is why you had me be all nice to him?"

Kurt found himself uncertain whether to facepalm, yell, or just give up on the day and go upstairs to bed. Fortunately, Dave seemed more smugly bemused than anything else. "That and because it was, and still is, the right thing to do. Was or was not Dave good?"

"Well..." Finn shrugged. "Yeah."

Now it was Kurt's turn to be smug, especially since he didn't have to look to know that Dave was probably at least three shades of red. "So what are you doing here, anyway? I thought you were going to be out until dinner."

"Oh, yeah. I forgot my football." He started to jog towards the stairs when he abruptly turned back towards Dave. "You're really...?"

"Yes, I'm really."

"Okay, then. It's cool. I just... I just didn't expect you to be..." Finn looked oddly thoughtful for a moment before he continued. "Y'know, we should hang out sometime."

Dave visibly started; Kurt was on the edge of it himself. "Uh, sure, but... why?"

"Well, 'cause that offer to join New Directions is still open, and I want to convince you that it'll be cool with everyone. You know Kurt is gonna be on my case until you say yes." Kurt shrugged; it was fair. "That and I kinda wanna pick your brain. I think I've been kind of not real understanding about gay people, and if I'm gonna be a good brother to Kurt, I gotta learn what not to say, what to do, all that stuff, you know? So I was kinda hoping you'd help me out. I mean, I've talked to Kurt a lot about it, but I think I'd learn more if I had someone else to talk to."

Kurt thought his chest was going to burst with pride and fraternal love. Dave, for his part, still looked discombobulated, his eyes searching Finn's face as if looking for the trap. Finally, he nodded. "Yeah. Okay. That'd be cool."

"Great! You're on Xbox Live, right? Let me know what your username is. I'll get your number from Kurt." He glanced at his cell phone. "Shit, I'm late. Gotta get that football and go. See you later, Dave!" He jogged upstairs, the thumping of his footsteps almost echoing in the house.

Still giddy, Kurt waited until Dave turned back to him. "Pleasantly surprised yet?" he practically purred in triumph.

"That's not fair," Dave muttered. "That was about me being gay, not about... that other thing."

"But being gay is just as much a part of who you are as... that other thing. I keep telling you, de-stressing is important. The better you feel, the better you can deal with... that other thing. This is a great first step, Dave, and I'm so proud of you for taking it. Just a little bit further and—"

"Oh, no, you are _not_ gonna make joining your stupid glee club a step in my fucking journey of personal discovery."

"I was doing no such thing."

"Pssh. You do _not_ pull off the innocent look, Hummel."

"How dare you! I am the very picture of virgin innocence."

"I'm gonna tell Finn that. Bet he'll find it as funny as I do."

"If he does, he's a dead man."

"What am I dead for now?"

"Nothing, Finn, if you know what's good for you!"

"Your brother is scaring me, dude!"

"Hah! You and me both!"

"Flattery will get neither of you anywhere..."

* * *

**Origin Story  
**

"So what are you doing with the summer? Besides dragging me around and torturing me?" Dave sipped at his chocolate milkshake casually as he picked at the remaining shards of his fries.

"Dad's garage," Kurt replied between sips of Diet Coke.

"You really know cars?"

"It was how I bonded with my dad when I was little."

"And you were actually interested? That shit is _dirty_ , y'know."

"You don't have to tell me that," Kurt said dryly. "But yeah, I was interested — the way my dad taught it, anyway. There was always a certain... beauty in how he approaches a job, in how he diagnoses a problem and repairs it. It's... _elegant_." Kurt chuckled. "I told him that once, and I think he took a little offense at his work being described as 'elegant'. But I know he was flattered too." He smiled a private smile to himself as he mopped up a blob of ketchup with a fry. "What about you?"

"Ah, I gotta find a job," Dave rumbled. "I could intern at my mom's or dad's office, but I'd go nuts having to copy and file all day. That and... I kinda want to spend as much time away from them as I can."

The very idea of parents who weren't completely supportive... The idea of wanting to spend time _away_ from them instead of absorbing every single moment because you never knew when they could just leave your life for good... It was almost obscene in Kurt's mind. It made him realize just how lucky he was... and, in a sense, how sheltered. Which was a shame, because everyone deserved to be safe. That, and not being safe could make people do desperate, insane things. Dave was living proof. "So what do you want to do?"

"I dunno. I figure I'll get a job at the supermarket or Lowe's. But..."

"But...?"

"I've been thinking about what we were talking about before." Dave looked around; the restaurant was moderately busy, but the tables around them were empty. When he spoke again, his voice was low, his posture hunched over the table. "What I really want to do is... Shit, this is gonna sound lame..."

"Come on, Dave, I think we know each other better than this by now." Kurt leaned over the table as well. "Is this about... your power?"

Dave nodded. "What I really want to do is use it to help people."

"Oh," Kurt said, eyes twinkling. "You really _do_ want to be a superhero."

"Don't put it like _that_. Fuck, it makes me sound like a little kid who wants to put on a cape and a mask." Dave glared. "And you're imagining me dressed up in that right now, aren't you?"

Kurt wiped the smile off his face. "Sorry, sorry. Please, continue."

"Okay." Dave wadded up his empty burger wrapper and batted it around the table with his finger as he mused. "Anyway, I'd been thinking... My power is this incredible thing, but it just doesn't _matter_ to anyone except me and maybe sorta you. I mean, what am I doing with it? Picking stuff up and putting it down? I know it's more than that, but... what's the _point_ of it if I can't _use_ it in some way? I want..." He licked his lips. "I want my power to be good for something. I want to make some kind of difference. If that's being a fucking superhero... Then yeah. I want to be a superhero."

Kurt considered. "It's not going to be easy to do. It's not like Lima is a hotbed of crime, and putting yourself in the middle of trouble is risky to begin with."

"I know. I've been pounding my head against it, and I can't figure it out. But it's something I _have_ to do, Kurt. I want to make up for the shitty stuff I did in the past. I want to feel like there's a _reason_ I have this power."

"Well, I think we make our own purpose, so you're already on the right track, as far as I'm concerned. You might just need to keep your eyes open and take the opportunities as they present themselves." Kurt mused as he sucked up the last of his soda. "Still, you need to be careful. I admire how you want to be a good guy..."

"For once..." Dave said under his breath.

Kurt ignored him for the moment; he had a point to make. "... But you need to watch out for yourself too. You can't do anyone any good if you're trapped in some government lab."

"I know. It's just..." He grimaced.

"What's the matter?"

"I... I'm scared, Kurt," Dave said in a whisper. Dave had admitted to such, and more, a dozen times before, but this time... His hands were clasped tightly together, his eyes were red-rimmed... He didn't look scared. He looked terrified. "I haven't mentioned this before because I was hoping it would go away, but..." His forehead wrinkled, his mouth pressed closed for a brief moment. "Lately, it's like... I only really feel alive when I'm using the power. Whenever I'm not... I _want_ to. Sometimes real bad. It's like it's calling to me. Right fucking now, it feels like it's taking a lot of willpower just to keep me from ripping every table in this place out of the fucking floor..." He bit his lip, almost hard enough to draw blood. "Tell me it'll be okay," Dave said tremulously. "Please tell me I'm gonna be okay."

"You're going to be okay, Dave." Kurt expected to be scared as well, or at least nervous... But somehow (maybe because he was too dumb to be, or maybe because he'd already been through enough of these kinds of moments to last him a lifetime), he believed every word of what he said. "You're just starting to feel comfortable with having your power after years of denial and guilt. You're starting to open yourself up to the possibilities. Now that you're not ignoring it and suppressing it, it's just overwhelming you a little. As you get used to it, that feeling will lessen. It'll be as natural to you as walking, and just as easy to control."

"You really think so?" Kurt could imagine a nine year old Dave sounding just like that, perhaps asking his parents if Grandma was going to come home soon.

"I do. Your power isn't the only thing getting stronger; you are too. Have a little faith in yourself; I can't and won't be the only one to carry you. You have to carry yourself, and I know you can. You just have to believe in yourself."

Dave exhaled for several long seconds, folding his arms onto the table and resting his chin on top. "I guess," he mumbled.

"I said 'confidence,' Dave, not skepticism. You think I'd get on stage time and time again in front of hostile audiences if I wasn't certain that I could blow the roof off? Borrow a cue from Karofsky; if you can't make it, fake it until it's real."

Dave snickered. "I never thought I'd have anything to learn from that douchebag."

"He was a rather unsavory character, wasn't he? But that just goes to show that you can never tell who has something to offer the world, can you?"

"No." The word was so low that Kurt almost didn't hear it. "No, you can't."

"And you know what he would've done with your powers? Used them to become the king of McKinley. His enemies and the weak would've had an avalanche of bad luck and convenient disasters, and he wouldn't have thought twice about any of it." Kurt gave Dave's arm a reassuring pat; Dave just stared down at it dumbly. "The very fact that you're afraid, that you're asking yourself these questions, proves beyond a shadow of a doubt how much of a better person you are. How human you are."

Dave continued to stare down at Kurt's hand on his arm for long seconds. Finally, he said, with a small crack of a smile, "You're just saying that 'cause you're the one teaching me."

Kurt laughed. "Maybe, but you're more than my pet project, you know."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, of course. You're my friend. And I suppose that gives me even more reason to be reassuring, but as I keep telling you, I won't lie to you. I wouldn't have stuck around all this time if you weren't working hard, and if I didn't think you could do it. If you absorb just one lesson of mine, make it that one. I'm going to get tired of repeating it all the time."

He heard Dave exhale slowly. Finally, he straightened back up in his seat. "I'll try."

"Do or do not. There is no try." Kurt turned up his nose at Dave's askance look. "Hey, I'm not just musicals and romantic comedies, you know. Star Wars is a cultural institution. Besides, Harrison Ford was a fine specimen of a man in his youth. Still is."

"Okay, whatever you say, Yoda," Dave cackled.

"You take that back, David!"

"Make me!"

"Oh, _don't_ tempt me!"

"Gah! It's that _stare_ again! How the fuck do you do that?!"

"Practice, Dave. Practice."

* * *

**Raised in a Barn**

"So how did you find this place?" The wood was warm under Kurt's hand as he pushed the door open. He could feel the flaking paint scratch his palm; he tried not to shudder.

"My dad loves road trips. We used to pass by here all the time when I was a kid. I was looking at a map of Lima, trying to think of another place we could go, and I remembered it."

The barn was the centerpiece of an abandoned farm a few miles from Lima's outskirts, a relic of a more bucolic time before large scale industrial farming and the growth of the city pushed out the few remaining families trying to eke out a living from the land. It was in the middle of a vast field of overgrown grass, off a little used country road, a good hike past a crumbling farmhouse. All in all, it was perfect for some privacy.

Kurt stood in the middle of the barn, arms akimbo, motes of dust swirling in the light falling from the open window above. The barn stood over two stories tall, in remarkably good shape considering its age and neglect. The loft was still intact, and the floor was scattered with the detritus of its former usage: crumbling bales of hay, horse stalls that were falling apart, rusting equipment, even an abandoned vehicle — an '81 Ford F-150 if Kurt wasn't mistaken — up on blocks and pretty much a shell.

But Kurt didn't see junk amidst a sad, useless remnant of a bygone way of life: he saw training tools, a safe space. He saw _potential_.

"Very nice," he said, nodding approvingly. "This will definitely be a good additional base of operations."

"Yeah, it's better than I thought. I thought for sure it'd be close to falling apart, but the walls and roof look pretty solid. Only bad thing: no apple tree."

"We'll split our time between the two places anyway. A little variety will keep things from getting too boring."

Dave raised an eyebrow as he closed the barn door. "Working with telekinetic powers... getting boring?"

"You have a point. But you know what I mean." Kurt circled the perimeter, looking for a place to sit that would both hold his weight and not stain his slacks. "So how's the job?"

"Almost as boring as school. But unlike school, at least they're paying me." Dave strolled to the center of the open floor as a broken hubcap rose from a shelf and began dancing around him like a hungry mosquito, flipping and turning through the air in lazy loops and arcs. It almost took Kurt's breath away, how much more comfortable and adept Dave had become with his power. Despite the progress he still had to make, compared to where he began... it was like night and day. "Man, that feels good, being able to let it out."

"What does it feel like when you can't?"

"It's like I told you when you first saw it — a build up in my entire body, especially my head. It's like this... energy is running through all my nerves, trying to find a way to break free." He paused to watch the hubcap zigzag back and forth. "It's still too hard to describe, though. Me no talk words good."

Kurt chuckled. "As long as you understand your own feelings, I'm sort of irrelevant." Giving up his quest for a seat (maybe he'd buy a folding chair or something), he began to explore his surroundings restlessly. "I want to see what's up there." He stepped onto the ladder to the loft.

"Careful."

"I'll be fine," he said dismissively, remembering his childhood days of eager tree climbing that led his mother to nickname him "Curious George". The loft held about as much as he expected: crumbling metal and rotting hay. As he gingerly stepped onto the platform, testing his steps before he took them, Dave's voice suddenly echoed from below him.

"I've kind of been thinking lately about why."

"Why what?" A gleam of light in a corner near the front of the barn drew his attention.

"Why me. Why I was the one born with this thing. There has to be a million people who need it more than me... who'd use it better than me." _A million people who_ are _better than me_. If Dave was thinking it (and Kurt was pretty sure he was), he at least had learned enough not to say it out loud.

"If you can't understand it," Kurt said as he made his way towards the gleam, "then it's probably evidence that it's random, and that you didn't do or not do anything to 'deserve' it... Which means, again, you have to make your own meaning. If it isn't random somehow, then you just haven't found the reason yet. Either way, I don't think it's something you need to worry about."

"I suppose. I guess after going to church all these years, I'm kinda used to having answers like that. Or being told 'em, anyway."

Kurt nodded to himself. It was easy to forget how different his and Dave's backgrounds were. He stepped over a pitchfork. "Do you still think your church would tell you that you're possessed?"

"That or ask me to do 'miracles' so they can fundraise."

"I honestly don't know which would be more distur—"

Neither had time to react to stop it entirely. The loud crunch of rotting wood shattering under Kurt's step was the only warning they had before several square feet of the loft gave way. Kurt didn't even have time to scream.

" _Kurt!_ " But Dave did, apparently. As Kurt plunged towards the ground, he could only hope that there wasn't something sharp underneath him, and that he didn't land wrong, and that he didn't get a head injury, and wasn't it funny, all the things he could think about in less than a couple of seconds? Perhaps there was something to that "life flashing before your eyes" thing...

Then it occurred to Kurt that he really should have landed by now. Why hadn't he? And why couldn't he tell? Oh, his eyes were closed; when had that happened? Probably by instinct, the instant he realized that he was falling. _So open your eyes, you idiot!_

He was floating in mid air about three feet off the ground, his body frozen in free fall position. He wasn't sure how surprised he should have been. Dave was standing nearby, fixing him with a determined stare, his eyebrows turned up in worry.

It was an odd feeling in its lack of it; his body didn't feel pushed or pulled — it was simply as though gravity had turned off for him. It didn't seem to match entirely with some of Dave's descriptions of how he used his power before... Was he simply incorrect or describing it as poorly as he'd feared? Had the power evolved over time with his burgeoning control? Was it different for living things versus inanimate objects?

And why the hell was he thinking about these things when he was _floating in mid air_?!

"Dave..." he began, the name thin with tension, even as he tried not to think about tissue paper in circles of salt.

"Are you okay?" Dave asked. "I'm not hurting you, am I?" The sentence was choked with fear; Kurt couldn't begin to imagine what was going through his mind. The "catch" had probably been done out of pure instinct; he must've thought of tissue paper too.

"No... I'm fine. I really should've listened to you before. Thanks." He was trying to sound casual, even as he realized how stupid it was; if there was ever a situation in which it'd look moronic to pretend that nothing unusual was happening, being suspended in the air by telekinesis was certainly it.

"No problem. I'm just glad to actually save you from being hurt for once, instead of causing it."

"Not as glad as I am." There was a moment of silence. "Dave?"

"Hmm?"

"You can put me down now."

A smile slowly crept over Dave's face, a smile Kurt wasn't entirely sure he liked. "See, there's the thing... Now that I know I can do this without hurting you..."

"Dave..."

"When you're Peter Pan..." Now those were words Kurt wasn't expecting. "... They'll use wires and stuff to make you fly."

"Dave..."

"But you should feel what it's like without them." The barn doors swung open of their own accord. "You should close your eyes. I think it'll be cooler that way."

"Daaaaaahhhhhh!" Kurt flipped over and swooped out of the barn. He could move his arms and legs, but all that flailing really accomplished was make him look like a nincompoop. He soared at about running speed, close enough to the ground for the tall grass to tickle at his chest. He glanced behind him; Dave was stepping out of the barn, hands in pockets, watching with what was undoubtedly a smug grin fit only for an insensitive gorilla.

As he made a lazy turn, the surprise and outrage at his lack of control gave way to wonder. _I'm flying. Oh my God I'm really..._ He closed his eyes as suggested, feeling the wind rush by, extending his arms out like an eagle. He'd had the dreams, like everyone, but this... This was way beyond even the best of them...

He had never felt so free in his life.


	8. Chapter 8

**Bonding**

"Watch out!"

"I got it!"

"He's gaining— Shit!"

"Woo! Headshot!"

"Whew. Thanks, Dave. Saved my ass there."

"Sure thing."

Kurt had long forgotten which of Finn's hyperviolent games they'd started with. Not that it mattered — he'd been reading in the corner behind them for over an hour, and he was almost certain that they'd completely forgotten that he was there. The game had a certain visceral fascination, sure, but he much preferred beauty (such as in his magazine, chock full of summer fashion) to ugliness (such as in the game, chock full of internal organs on the outside of the body and realistic blood spatter physics).

"Hey..." Kurt's ears perked at the word; it was much more serious than any entire sentence Finn had uttered the entire afternoon. He wasn't quite sure how Finn or Dave was able to carry on a conversation while still mowing down their enemies, but they somehow did. This wasn't the first time Finn and Dave had gotten together, but it was the first time they'd met at the Hummel-Hudson residence — thus it was the first time Kurt was able to eavesdrop, which again was much easier than he thought it'd be. All Dave had said about their previous meetings was that they were "getting to know each other as people," which Kurt knew would greatly advance Finn's understanding of homosexuals — it was hard to see someone as an "other" when literally the only difference was the gender you chose to sleep with. Still, this was the first time he'd be able to witness the progress in person (and pretty much candidly, no less), so this was an opportunity he wouldn't have missed for all the boutiques in Paris.

"Yeah?" Dave seemed to sense the change in mood too, because even Kurt could tell that his video game avatar almost got killed by an attack that should've been child's play to dodge. Still, it was impressive how quickly he recovered to blow away the source of said attack; Kurt tried to think of it as a legitimate skill, like his performance skill or Dave's telekinesis. It was very difficult.

"So you're gay..."

"Way to go, Captain Obvious. You've only said that, like, a couple dozen times since you found out."

"I'm working through it, okay?" Finn huffed, leaning to one side as he strafed his target, as if it would help his character dodge incoming attacks; Kurt had no idea why he bothered. "Anyway, I just never figured it out..."

"Hey, I'm good," Dave said way too smugly.

"Yeah, yeah. But I never figured it out 'cause you were on the football team and all."

"That's _why_ I joined, Finn."

"Okay, I get that, but... you don't like fashion or musicals or any of the stuff Kurt likes."

"What's your point?"

"I just... I don't get it! Kurt is _gay_. Everyone's always known that. You... We never figured you out. So how is it possible that...?"

Finn trailed off, luckily for him; Kurt sensed he was on the edge of falling into territory that would've forced him to stand and yell. For his part, Dave answered with a lot more calm than Kurt thought he (whether Kurt or Dave) was capable of. "So you think all gay guys are like Kurt."

Finn shrugged. "Like I said, we all knew. He's what's on TV and movies and stuff. But then I find out you... you know... _exist_ , and it made me realize that maybe I don't know what the fuck is going on."

Kurt had the feeling that Dave had as many responses to that as he did. What he didn't know was whether Dave would break any of them out; Kurt had his own opinion. "Okay..." Dave began, which already told Kurt that he was doing what Kurt himself would've done. "So when you said everyone just knew... It sounds like you're saying that Kurt acted so much like a girl that you pretty much assumed he was gay. 'Cause someone who likes stuff guys don't normally like has to be like a girl, which is gay, right?"

Finn fidgeted, his fingers almost slipping off his control pad. "Well, uh... It sounds really bad when you put it that way..."

"Kurt told me about some of what went down last year," Dave said quietly, in stark contrast to the blaring soundtrack emanating from the TV. "Like what happened right before he went to spy at that prep school. And what Santana calls him, like, all the time."

"Well, yeah," Finn said nervously, "but that's Santana, you know?"

"He also says none of the rest of you ever call her out on it." There would've been silence then, but again, with the game, that was impossible. "I mean, I'm not judging you, man; I thought a lot of the same things. But... I'm kinda learning a lot now. Most of it from your brother."

"Yeah, he does that to people. He tell you that he's why I'm still not doing the shit I used to do?"

"Oh, yeah. He told me _exactly_ what went down."

Finn reddened, and his character came within a pixel of horrible death. "He told you _all_ that?! Dude!"

"Hey, he's a... friend. Better than I deserve." He coughed. "Anyway, I gotta tell you, Kurt hates it when people imply he's a girl. I mean he _hates_ it. He's not transgendered or anything, so he thinks all you guys are doing is... Lemme see if I can remember what he said... Reinforcing outdated gender norms and stereotypes."

Finn hit a button; the action on the screen froze. He turned full on towards Dave. "Why didn't he ever say anything?"

"He has. You all just didn't listen, and he's kind of tired of trying. Besides, since most of you guys used to bully him, he figures that it's enough of a victory that you actually like him... Even if you don't really respect him."

"Oh." The syllable was such a stew of shame and guilt and embarrassment that Kurt felt the urge to get up and hug the big lug. But he didn't; he merely waited until Finn finally spoke again, this time with a firm, hard tone befitting a starting quarterback. "I'm gonna make that right. I'll get the others in line too. I have no idea what I'm going to do about Santana, but I'll sure as hell try."

Kurt muffled a frankly humiliating sound that threatened to come out of his throat. Dave just nodded. "Cool, man. He'll really appreciate that." A moment passed. "So, you gonna unpause the game now?"

"One more question: why haven't you come out yet? I mean, you sound like you're really cool with being gay now..."

"Okay, first thing: I've spent a _lot_ more time _not_ being cool with being gay, so I still need some time to get used to it. Second, even if I was completely cool with it, not everyone else would be. And I can't tell who wouldn't be."

Finn's nose wrinkled in thought. "Oh," he said again, this time with a sadness that made Kurt almost believe that he really _did_ get it. "I'm a little surprised Kurt hasn't been on your case about this. He's a big believer in being out and open and honest and shit."

"Yeah, but he also knows that this is something I gotta figure out at my own pace. If you could hear him rant whenever someone outs someone else, for any reason, even if they think they're doing the right thing, even if they didn't mean to... It's really important to him that everyone makes their own decision about whether to come out and when. It's not a weapon, and it's not a political thing. It's someone's _life_ , and they need to be able to live it the way they want, or what's the point?"

Finn nodded thoughtfully. "I think I get it." Without hesitation or fear, Finn clapped a hand on Dave's shoulder. "Thanks, man. You've been a big help."

"Sure thing," Dave replied, and if there had been any justice, this would've been just the start of a touching and dramatic scene of mutual understanding and reconciliation. Instead Dave said, "Now are you gonna unpause or what?"

"Oh, yeah." And the shooting started again.

Kurt shook his head with a grin as he sneaked out of the room. _Boys_.

* * *

**Crush**

"Ready?" Kurt asked, hoping his voice didn't betray the touch of nervousness he felt.

Dave nodded, smacking his tongue on what sounded like a bone dry mouth. "Yeah."

Kurt stepped back into one of the ruined horse stalls. He was pretty sure the precaution wasn't necessary, but Dave had insisted; even though Dave seemed to be able to instinctively use his power in a way that wouldn't hurt himself, there was no guarantee when it came to innocent bystanders. Plus, Dave was in a slightly irritable mood after the umpteenth attempt to fly himself as he had helped Kurt fly failed for some unfathomable reason ("It feels like I'm trying to levitate by pulling on my own fucking shoelaces"), so who knew what that would do to his control.

None of that mattered, though, to Kurt's perverse excitement. It was finally time for the F-150 to meet its maker. They had already ascertained that, despite the layer of rust that covered the hulk, it was still surprisingly sound structurally. It would take force — a lot of force — to put even a dent into it.

It was time to see if Dave was capable of that kind of force. He'd already done plenty of lifting and manipulating, but this would be a different test: an application of the power from multiple angles at once. He'd already touched on it in that desperate moment when he stopped Kurt from falling, but could he tap that aspect of his abilities more consciously?

Of course, there was also that visceral pleasure in watching pure destructiveness. Even he wasn't immune to it, apparently — the same fascination that drew crowds to demolition derbies and building implosions. His heart quickened.

Even from his position, Kurt could hear Dave's breathing; it was steady and rhythmic — calm, almost serene. _Good_. _Keep that calm, Dave. Don't let anything distract you from guiding the power — not even your own mind._ Dave's back was to him, but he knew that his eyes were closed; this was something new for him, after all, so whatever little tricks he needed to help him concentrate were just fine with Kurt. Slowly, Dave's right arm rose, his palm facing the rusted truck. As Kurt's breath sped up, Dave's remained at the same slow pace. _Good, Dave, good... Don't overthink... Just feel..._

Dave's fingers twitched. A metallic groan emanated from the truck. He hesitated. _Don't think. Just keep going..._ Dave's fingers flexed again, as if he'd heard Kurt's thoughts. The same metallic groan — but this time, Kurt could see a crease form in the truck's roof.

Then Dave's trembling fingers slowly began to close. Both the front and rear ends of the truck crumpled, accompanied by the sharp crack of shattering glass. Little clouds of rust puffed up as the chassis messily folded in on itself; the truck bed was starting to compact like an accordion. Dave's breathing grew heavier, but the steadiness remained. The roof was caved into a deep bowl; the cracked and dirty windshield shattered. Dave's hand completely shut into a fist, shaking with tension. Kurt heard an axle snap as the engine block whined and a shard of the broken truck bed jutted out like an metallic iceberg.

All at once, the noises (the crunching, the creaking) ceased. Kurt gingerly eased himself out of the stall and approached Dave. As he circled around, he could see that Dave's eyes were still closed, fist still extended in front of him (though it was steady now), with his breath was now shallow and ragged, his forehead covered in beads of sweat. "Dave," Kurt said. There was no response. Kurt gently placed his hand over Dave's outstretched fist and lowered it. "Dave."

Finally he opened his eyes. "Kurt..." he said hoarsely. Kurt followed his stare over to the truck... or what remained of it. It wasn't quite a cube — more like a brick. The roof was almost completely pressed down to the tops of the doors, the bed compacted into barely a quarter of its original length. The engine, it appeared, had been driven through the dashboard into the cab. Kurt had been to a junkyard or two in his time; if he hadn't seen it with his own eyes, he would've sworn that this truck had been put into an industrial crusher. "I did that..." Dave's whisper broke into his attention.

"Yes, you did, Dave." There was a quaver in Dave's tone that practically screamed "tread lightly." He didn't have to imagine what was going through Dave's mind — he had the rather strong feeling he was about to find out.

"That's what I'm capable of," Dave said, stepping towards the ruined truck as if in a trance. "That's what my power can do..." A shaky hand reached out, caressing the twisted metal. "If this were a person..."

"Stop, Dave," Kurt said sharply. "Stop that right now. You're no different than a cop with a gun or a martial artist with the skill to snap a man's neck with his bare hands. You have a powerful gift that can cause a lot of harm, yes, but so does a highly trained Army sniper. It's how you use it, Dave. You wield a weapon — _you_ are not a weapon. Got it?"

"Th-the really scary part," Dave rasped, "is how easy it was. I mean, it took effort, yeah, but it was so easy... If I keep getting stronger, maybe I could collapse a building... Hell, I could probably take out an entire city block..."

" _Dave!_ " Not since the days of Karofsky had Kurt felt so... so utterly _pissed_ — but was it more at Dave, for his continued and unjustified self-fear and loathing, or himself, for suggesting this experiment to begin with? "I am sick of being ignored, so you are going to listen to me _right the fuck now_. We are going to leave. You are going to meet Finn, and the two of you are going to do something typically masculine and mindless — watch a baseball game, go bowling, I don't give a shit. And we are going to skip the next session. In fact, we aren't going to meet again until you can look me in the eye and tell me that you are a _good fucking person_ , you're not a killer, you're not dangerous, and that you're willing to work to believe it _every single day_. Am I clear?" Dave didn't reply; Kurt fought the urge to grab his collar and drag his face down to eye level. "Am. I. Clear?!"

"I..." Dave swallowed. "Crystal."

"Good." Kurt stalked out of the barn; Dave followed. Neither said a word all the way back to their cars. It wasn't until Kurt opened his door, about to drive away at way too high a speed, that Dave spoke again.

"I'll try. I really will." Kurt turned; Dave was sitting on his rear bumper, eyes to the ground. "I'll try to be worthy of all the faith you have in me."

"Well... Good. That's all I ask." Kurt shut the car door, sighing. "And I'm sorry I yelled at you. I know how scary this has always been for you. I just... I just wish you could see all the progress you've made since you were the bully pushing kids like me around. I wish you could see that the very fact that you're so afraid proves that your fears are groundless. I wish you could see what I see when I look at you."

"I wish I could see that too," Dave said quietly, looking up to meet Kurt's gaze. "It must be pretty awesome."

"Yeah," Kurt said with a nod. "Yeah, it is."

Dave returned the nod, then got into his car and drove away. He didn't say anything else.

What else, at this point, was there?

* * *

**Family Dinner**

"So..." Burt began, "Dave Karofsky..." Kurt nearly dropped his breakfast plate. "See, now it's reactions like that that make me wonder."

"Wonder about what, Dad?" Kurt asked with such obviously forced casualness that he had to resist the urge to roll his eyes at himself.

"Wonder why I never heard his name in this house before, especially with all the time you've been spending with the kid."

"There's not much to tell," Kurt lied with a shrug. "He's a friend of mine from school."

"Yet you've never talked about him," Burt repeated, "when you talk all our ears off about all your other friends. I've been wondering about your schedule for a while, so I've been keeping track. I'm guessing that most of the big jump in activity you've had since about the end of last year has been about Dave?"

 _Don't confirm, don't deny. Don't confirm, don't deny._ "And how would you guess that?"

"Basically process of elimination," Burt shrugged. Kurt marveled at how easy it was to forget how intelligent his father was. "I had to ask Finn for his name."

"You... asked Finn?"

"Well, I noticed that he was suddenly spending a lot more time out too, so I made a guess. And I suppose it wasn't so much 'asked' as 'interrogated'." A sly smile drifted across Burt's face.

"I wish I could've seen that," Kurt chuckled. "But really, Dad, you could've asked me about him; I would've been happy to answer."

"If it hadn't been for my poking around, I wouldn't have known there was anything _to_ ask about to begin with."

That was, of course, the entire point. "Well, he's a friend, like I said. We've been hanging out... doing what friends do. What else is there to say?"

Burt waved towards the empty chair at the kitchen table that Kurt had so recently vacated. Kurt sat, trepidation rising in his chest. "That's what I'm wondering, Kurt. You usually aren't so secretive..."

"Who's being secretive?"

"Now, see, that's just what I'm talking about, right there. Come on, kid, I raised you. I've spent seventeen years under the same roof as you. 'Who's being secretive'?" he repeated with a snort. "You, Kurt. You. If he were a normal friend, you would've brought him up in casual conversation ages ago." He paused. "Is he... Is he a... boyfriend?"

"No, he's not," Kurt replied calmly. "And I'm sorry I didn't bring him up before; it just never occurred to me. He's not in the glee club, you see, and I know I ramble on about it way too much, so I didn't have a lot of reason to mention him." He hoped that this lie was a little less transparent than his last; he never could tell with his dad. The poker face he was getting back on the other side of the table wasn't exactly helping in that regard.

"Okay, then, you won't mind if he comes to dinner on Friday night."

"What?" Kurt squeaked.

"Since you don't think telling me anything about this guy is all that important, I'll just have to see for myself who this is you're spending so much time with all of a sudden. Make sure he gets here by six."

"Dad..."

"Otherwise, I'll have to make all kinds of assumptions — assumptions you probably don't want me to be making." Burt Hummel rose from the table. "Six, Kurt." He strode out of the kitchen without another word, leaving his son staring at the empty chair.

It took until Wednesday for Kurt to broach the subject to Dave. Perhaps he was halfway hoping that by delaying until the last possible minute, Dave would have some kind of excuse not to come to dinner. Not that Dave wouldn't acquit himself adequately, of course; it was just that with the goals his father undoubtedly had in mind by extending the invitation, the chances that he'd realize that there was something his son was hiding vis a vis Dave grew exponentially. With both Carole and Finn also present, it'd be that much more pressure, that much harder to evade and excuse.

Okay, worst case scenario: he and Dave would sit his father alone in a back room, show him Dave's powers, and lay their cards on the table. The idea did have a certain appeal to it; the levelheaded Burt Hummel would undoubtedly have ideas and advice.

 _Or have another heart attack, and keel over dead from shock_ , Kurt thought ruefully. _Never mind that it should be up to Dave to decide who knows, and not be forced into it by circumstance._

From the way Dave was squirming (and the way the fallen tree branch behind him was shaking), Kurt had to guess that he was having similar thoughts. "He's not going to kill me, is he?" Dave asked with a quaver in his voice.

The very thought of even Burt Hummel being able to harm Dave Karofsky the telekinetic football player over half his age was ludicrous, but Kurt let it slide; that part of Dave wasn't quite integrated into his self image yet, and teenagers were still socialized to obey parents. Besides, Burt Hummel _was_ a scary man when he put his mind to it. "Now why would he do that?"

"Because of what I did to you and Finn."

"I didn't tell him that."

"But Finn might have! Fuck, if he doesn't know, I might just confess to get it over with so I can beg his forgiveness..."

"Now, Dave, there's seeking forgiveness, and there's being a self-punishing masochist. What Dad doesn't know won't hurt him. Or you. He just wants to meet you because he's figured out that you're the one I've been spending all the time with. He just wants to see what you're like, that's all."

"And you seriously think he'll like what he sees? If he doesn't, it'll just make life harder for you, and you have enough of that already."

Kurt couldn't disagree. "Even if I didn't think he'd like you, and I think he will if you make even a little effort, I don't have much of a choice. Withholding you would be as much as admitting we have something to hide. Which we do, but he doesn't have to know that."

"Well, I can't think of a way out of this, so I guess I'll be there."

"Thanks for the enthusiasm, Dave. Loosen up a bit before you come, or he'll know for sure something is up. Besides, maybe we're worrying for nothing. Maybe it'll even be fun."

Dave chuckled humorlessly. "Since when do we get that lucky?"

Kurt didn't reply. Nor did he tell Dave that he spent the next days preparing, but he'd long since learned that a little immediate planning inevitably saved a lot of flailing in the future. So when Dave turned up that Friday evening (at five past six; not ideal, but barely permissible), he was ready.

Kurt was relieved to see that Dave had actually taken his advice to dress up a little; he wore a button-up shirt that looked pressed, and a pair of jeans that were darker and cleaner than his usual pair. "Hey. Come on in."

"Hey." His eyes flickering about, as if searching for the elusive and mythical Burt Hummel, Dave entered the house.

"Yo, Dave," Finn called out from the living room.

"Hey," he said again, returning Finn's wave. He followed Kurt to a shadow-strewn corner of the hallway. "So...?"

"Okay, I think we have a shot of making through this dinner alive." There was a moment of silence. Then both boys began laughing. "Whew, I needed that..." Kurt finally gasped when they'd both calmed down.

"Shit, yeah..."

"Seriously, though, I think we'll be fine. I've been working on Finn, and he'll be in both our corners. He should be able to take a lot of the pressure off. If Dad asks, I've been doing summer tutoring with you. Um... what's your worst subject again?"

"English lit. I hate finding that symbolism shit."

"Okay, good, that's plausible. The rest of the time, I've been prepping you to audition for New Direc—"

"I knew it!" Dave cried. "You just couldn't fucking resist, could you?"

"No, and you wouldn't want it any other way. Finn and I are brothers in arms in this. But that's for later. Just be yourself — and I know you have a smart alec self-effacing remark about that, so just save it — and don't show any fear, and you'll be fine."

Dave exhaled. "Okay. If I can crush a fucking car with my mind, this should be a snap, right?"

"Kurt?" They whirled at the sound. Carole stood at the mouth of the hallway, a wooden spoon still in hand. "It's time for dinner." She approached them, raising her free hand. "I don't know if you remember me, Dave, but I'm Carole Hudson."

"I remember you, Mrs. Hudson. I think the last time I saw you was when you chaperoned our seventh grade dance?" He shook her hand politely. "Good to see you again."

"Same here. I assume you like pasta."

"Oh, yeah. I'll eat the sh— stuff 7 days a week if you let me."

"Just make sure you and Finn save some for the rest of us," Carole said with a smile.

It turned out that Carole's warning was more prescient than Kurt had thought. He tried to tell himself that Dave and Finn were growing boys, with a lot more mass to feed, but watching them decimate the spaghetti and garlic bread reminded him of nothing so much as two pigs at a trough. Fortunately, Carole had prepared plenty of food — even his father seemed satisfied with his plain, meatball-less marinara.

The first meeting between Dave and Dad was short and simple: an introduction and a firm handshake. That was all the time they had to do before dinner; the only off note was a raising of eyebrows from his dad that could've meant anything. But as the slurping and crunching finally showed signs of waning, and red-stained plates sat empty in front of everyone, Kurt could feel the moment approaching. He wasn't disappointed.

"So, Dave..." his father began; the addressed teenager whirled towards him, cutting Finn off in the middle of some remark. "You're on the football team, aren't you?"

"Yes, sir. Right guard."

"Right, right... I remember you now, at Finn's games. You joined the team this season?"

"Yes."

"So how long have you known Kurt?" He casually took a drink of water, frowning a little as it entered his mouth; Kurt knew he would've rather had a beer, but his dad had already had his two for the day.

"Uh, well... Technically, I've known him since middle school." Kurt turned towards Dave, startled. Already his memory was searching, even as he wondered at the immediacy and certainty of the reply. He came up empty. "We weren't in the same, uh... social circles back then. We still aren't, kind of."

"So how'd you two get to be friends? It wasn't through Finn, was it?"

"N-no, not really. We just... I needed help, and Kurt was there."

"With English literature, right?"

"Yes, sir," Dave replied, the first real lie he'd told directly to Kurt's dad's face. Well, not _technically_ a lie — just an implied connection that wasn't really there. That wasn't _quite_ a lie... Was it?

Burt was silent for a moment, moving only to give his plate to his wife and half-rise as a silent offer to help (an offer that was just as silently waved off). He waited until Carole disappeared into the kitchen before saying, "Can I be honest with you, Dave?"

"Uh..." Dave looked very much like he wanted to answer "no," and frankly, Kurt kind of wanted him to, even if it wouldn't do them any good. "Of course."

"No offense, but you're not like most of Kurt's friends. I mean, he has friends who play football, but they're in his glee club. I'm... not used to having someone like you be his friend, instead of... Well..."

Dave bit his lip; out of the corner of his eye, Kurt saw Finn flush and turn half away in shame. "Well," Dave began after a moment, "that's all on Kurt. Honestly, he's been an example to me."

Kurt busied himself with the scraps of his salad, hoping his blush wasn't too obvious.

"Really?"

Dave nodded. "Yeah. I wasn't always... the best person. But having a friend like Kurt... I know now that I can be better. He's shown me a whole new way of thinking that I never would've tried myself."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. It's... kind of a long story. Oh, and I used to think we were from different worlds, but he's shown me that we have more in common than I thought."

"How so?"

"Well, we have some movies in common." Kurt nodded; they tended to be films where action nicely married with artistic merit, such as the _Lord of the Rings_ trilogy. "We both like miniature golf and exploring new places. We both think that Windows totally sucks ass." There was a chuckle around the table. Dave's voice softened. "We both know the world sucks sometimes, and want to make it better..." Dave barely paused before continuing, "We're both gay..."

Finn nearly spit up his milk. Kurt's fork fell onto the floor with a clatter. The only visible reaction from Burt Hummel was that raising of eyebrows again. "You are?"

"Yeah," Dave said. Kurt wasn't sure what he was most surprised by: the coming out, or the relative evenness and calm with which it was done. "There was a long time when I thought I was a freak," he said, looking Kurt straight in the eye and leaving no doubt that he wasn't talking about homosexuality. Again, the implied connection that wasn't. "I still think it sometimes, and I know he's kind of annoyed that I do. But whatever I feel now... It's nothing like how I used to."

"So..." Burt began carefully, "that's why you two have been spending so much time together?"

Dave nodded, and Kurt was unreasonably relieved that his father's wording allowed the half-truths to continue. "He's been kind of a mentor to me. I've learned so much from him, I can't even tell you. And he's been so patient with me, even though I bet he's wanted to give up on me a hundred times..." Kurt wanted to tell Dave that he was wrong about that, but couldn't find the words before he continued. "I know he doesn't have all the answers, but he's helped me so much, you don't even know. If Kurt wasn't the kind of man he was, if I hadn't been desperate enough to accept his help, I honestly don't know where I'd be now. He's been a rock, Mr. Hummel, honestly he has. He's been calm when I've been freaking out, he's given me advice and been there for me when I really needed it... He's the best friend I've ever had, and if I had a hundred years, I could never tell you everything he's done for me."

All talk stopped. Kurt was glad for that; he honestly wasn't sure what to say. He only noticed then that Finn had slipped into the kitchen at some point unnoticed. His father was leaning back in his chair, arms crossed, his eyes invisible and unreadable from this angle, dammit. His nerves singing from suspense, he almost jumped when Burt finally broke the silence. "I'm glad you appreciate what a strong young man my son is."

"Dad, I'm sitting right here!" Kurt wanted to say that, but managed to stifle the impulse just in time. He couldn't break this moment; his sense of drama wouldn't let him.

"I definitely do, sir," Dave answered.

Burt nodded. "Just keep on remembering that, and you'll be fine. So, you follow the Indians or the Browns?"

A breath wooshed out of Dave — an aborted laugh of relief? Whatever it was, Kurt himself was approving of his dad's sense of timing; it had just been getting a little too heavy (and, for him, embarrassing). "Honestly, Mr. Hummel, I'm a NHL man, myself. Bruins."

"Ehh, never been much for hockey. I used to watch more basketball, but honestly, after LeBron left, it just became frustrating."

"Oh, God, you should've heard my dad when he left. My mom was afraid he was gonna give himself a stroke..."

The rest of the evening was mostly pleasant chatter, with a quick Mario Kart break in which Kurt acquitted himself rather nicely (and even the elder Hummel managed to pull out a race). At the door, Kurt nodded at Dave with approval. "You did well, grasshopper."

Dave clapped his hands together and bowed. "Thank you, honored sensei."

Kurt giggled. "Ah, respect. Love it!" The smiles slipped away from them both, the slightest nip of the evening air wafting in from the open door behind Dave. "You didn't have to come out to my dad, you know."

Dave shrugged. "I figure I'd better get used to it. No point keeping that a secret forever. Besides, I figure it'll be a distraction from... You know."

"Very clever. You might be right at that. What do you think will be your next step in that regard...?"

"My dad, probably." Dave scratched the back of his head. "I don't know if I'll ever be able to tell my mom — not as long as she's still gung ho over St. Luke's. But if I ever do, I'll need Dad on my side. And I think he will be. God, I hope he will be."

"If you need someone... moral support, whatever... It's not just me, you know; my own dad has a little experience with a gay teenage son."

"I'll call if I need it. Thank you." Dave's eyes shone in the bare moonlight peeking through the windows. "I mean that, thank you."

"Yes, you were very flattering. I think that helped with my dad more than anything. But no thanks needed, really."

"You keep saying that, and I'll keep ignoring it."

"As long as you listen to me when it's important, I don't mind."

"Deal. I'll... see you Sunday, Kurt."

"Sunday." Dave hadn't returned to church since his blow-up with his mom, and there was a certain satisfaction in directly replacing his former worship of a so-called higher power with development of Dave's inner power. Dave strolled halfway down the drive, then turned and gave a small, awkward wave. Kurt returned it (more elegantly, he liked to think), then waited and watched as Dave drove off into the night.

The next time the Hummel men spoke was about half an hour later. It took Burt Hummel a couple of knocks to penetrate his son's headphones. "What're you up to?"

"Finn and I are conspiring to get Dave to join New Directions, so I'm listening to possible audition pieces."

"Uh oh, I'm scared for him now." His father's grin slid off his face. "Dave seems like a nice guy."

"He is."

"You know, son, something occurred to me while we were talking to Dave..."

Oh, there was so much Kurt needed to talk with Dave about: New Directions, college, the next telekinetic lesson... Maybe next time he'd try pushing the limits of Dave's range. That was an aspect they hadn't explored a lot lately. But the audition song was the higher priority at the moment; the summer was rapidly slipping away, after all. Would it be best to showcase his range? There weren't many guys currently in the group who could dip into the baritone/bass range that well, so that'd probably be of the most interest to Mr. Schue. Should he go with something classic, or contemporary? Contemporary might be more relevant, given New Directions' general interests, but the classics seemed to have more iconic songs for Dave's range. Maybe that would have to be a future topic of discussion with Finn...

"... and I think you and Dave should at least talk about it, don't you?" Burt looked at his son expectantly.

Oh. Oh, crap. How long had he been zoned out? Shit shit shit... Asking his dad to repeat himself would be an unmistakable signal for a heavy sigh and long lecture, and he really wasn't in the mood. Best to fall back on that old standby he used with teachers whose lessons he outpaced: bluff and pretend he'd been listening.

"Uh... Yes, I agree. We'll definitely talk about... it." _Keep vague! Keep vague!_ "I'm sure we'll work something out." He put on a reassuring smile.

His father nodded. "Good. I won't interfere anymore; I just wanted to have my say."

"Anytime, Dad."

As his father retreated back into the hall, Kurt wondered just what it was his dad was talking about. He definitely couldn't ask now. Oh, well, how important could it have been? Kurt shrugged to himself and returned to his musical search.


	9. Chapter 9

**Dawn of a New Year**

"School starts again next week."

Dave groaned, his head gently bumping the post his back was against. "Don't fucking remind me."

Not that Dave had needed Kurt to remind him. As the weather grew cooler, the barn's draftiness had become more and more apparent and relevant. The apples at their other site were fewer and further between. Dave had already had to leave his summer job in preparation for the new year. Then there was the summer reading list...

"You really should have started on your books before now," Kurt chided. "I kept telling you to do it, and you kept telling me that you were. I really shouldn't tell you 'I told you so,' but in this case, it's for your own good: I told you so."

"Gee, thanks, Mom," Dave said sarcastically. "I had a few other things on my mind, okay?"

"So did I, but I still finished two weeks ago."

"You're not the one with the powers," Dave returned, and okay, that was fair. "Besides, you're the brains of this outfit. I'm just the brawn."

"Neither of us are 'just' anything. Besides, I think that as a gay teenage jock with telekinetic powers, you already transcend stupid stereotypes, don't you?"

"I suppose," he said with a chuckle. Dave's eyes went unfocused. "You know... Despite all the bullshit, I think... I think this has been the best summer I've ever had. And it has a lot of competition."

"This is the first summer you've spent not being afraid of yourself and what you can do," Kurt said quietly. "Well, not _as_ afraid, anyway."

"Yeah." Dave's empty Mountain Dew can rose in front of Dave's face, then imploded, wadding into a crinkled mess of aluminum with a hollow crunch. It then launched itself into a far corner of the barn.

"Hey!" Kurt yelped. "Recycling!"

Dave rolled his eyes. "You want to go to the trouble? You get it."

Kurt huffed, getting up from his comfortable folding chair and stalking in the direction of the can. "Seriously, Dave, it's like you don't _care_ about the environment..." He returned with his "prize," shaking his head. "Anyway, we'll be seniors. Just one more year..."

"I've... been trying not to think about that."

"Well, like I said, we'll burn that bridge when we get to it. Granted, we're almost there, but nevertheless, you should be proud of yourself, Dave. You've almost made it, even while burdened with an incredible secret that probably almost no one else in the world has." There was no answer. "We should get together again tomorrow, do some more planning."

"Try to get me to audition for the glee club, you mean?"

"Why, I have no idea what you're talking about. You know that that's entirely up to you."

"You and Finn think you're so fucking subtle..."

"Oh, Finn is a well meaning but lumbering oaf who wouldn't know subtlety and grace if it landed on him. I, on the other hand..."

"You've been living with him too long, dude, 'cause you're as bad as him."

Kurt gasped. "Bite your tongue, David Karofsky!"

"Hey, I'm not the one who had the crush on the guy..."

"Why, I never! How _dare_ you throw that in my face! Besides, are you seriously telling me that _yo_ _u_ didn't at least give him a second glance in the halls or in the locker room?"

Dead silence.

Kurt smirked triumphantly. "I knew it! I _knew it_ _!_ "

"Okay, okay, fine, I _looked_ , okay? A _lot_. But come on, I would've had to be blind not to!"

"Then I demand complete obedience, or I'll tell him all."

"What?! Man, Hummel, you act all sweet and pure, but you're as bad as Santana!"

"I'm in the glee club with Rachel Berry. I've learned to be ruthless."

* * *

**The Purple Piano Project  
**

Perhaps it was something in the air. Kurt felt it as early as when he woke up that morning. That uneasiness was why he came to school prepared for the worst, even as he chided himself for operating on a few uncomfortable feelings.

Then again, his dad always told him that instincts were just the subconscious trying to tell him something. So maybe he had good reason regardless. The fact that said instincts were right was just the icing on the cake.

The day was typically chaotic: dealing with the loss of members to New Directions, Quinn's sudden "makeover," Coach Sylvester's promise to destroy arts programs. The acrid smell of burning wood as he watched a piano turn into ash was almost anticlimactic.

It was fortunate for all involved that Kurt took that particular hallway after the piano inferno. Even years later, Kurt shuddered a little to think of what might have happened had he not run into Dave — literally. He was turning a corner when he slammed into a living breathing wall of jock. Scrambling to regain his balance, Kurt took a second to take in the sight before him — Dave's head and face were stained purple, his shirt splattered with red, his jeans soaked. "Watch where you're fucking—! Kurt...?"

With wordless efficiency, Kurt immediately grabbed Dave's arm and started walking in long strides. Dave, whether out of confusion or shock, didn't resist or even question. There were other students in the hall; they were stopping and staring. Kurt thought he saw the distinctive hairdo of Jacob ben Israel bobbing towards them. "Back, you jackals!" he snarled, clearing a path through the crowd merely with a glare. It was one of his prouder moments, actually.

Any girl's bathroom was right out, of course, where Dave was concerned. Fortunately, there was a boy's bathroom near the gym that would be pretty much deserted at this time of day. It was, in fact, not completely deserted; a curly haired sophomore was washing his hands. His eyes widened when the two burst in: slender performer pulling burly and multicolored athlete behind. The sophomore bolted, not even stopping to dry his hands. Smart kid.

"Stay here. Do not talk to anyone." Kurt didn't wait for a response before leaving. Going to his locker and getting his bag only took a few minutes, but he spent every one afraid that Dave would be gone when he returned. He wasn't — he was leaning against the sink, staring blankly into the mirror. His hands gripped the counter tightly, the muscles and veins in his arms popped and corded with tension.

Kurt simply dropped the bag onto the counter, startling Dave out of whatever thoughts occupied his mind. Kurt opened the bag and laid out an eye-popping array of self-cleaning products. He took out a moist wipe and held it out to Dave. Dave slapped the outstretched hand away from him. Kurt was about to yell when he saw how hard Dave was shaking. _Oh shit..._

"I need..." Dave began hoarsely. He swallowed and began again; his entire body was trembling. "I gotta let it out. Kurt, fuck, I need..."

Kurt looked around wildly. His eyes fell onto the heavy metal garbage can in the corner. It'd be noticed, and there'd be questions, but they didn't have much of a choice. Kurt went to the bathroom door and shot the bolt. "Go ahead, Dave."

Dave glared at the garbage can almost hatefully. With a metallic groan, the can began to collapse in on itself, spilling wadded up paper towels across the floor. Dave's hands were clenched into fists in front of him as the can crumpled, screaming in high pitched whines as if in agony. Dave let out a roar, and the can rose into the air, folding and distorting until it was nothing but a crushed lump of steel. "Fuck!" Dave screamed, and the former garbage can threw itself into the corner in which it once stood, hitting the wall and crashing to the floor with an echoing clang.

Dave's shoulders slumped; he was no longer shaking, just standing there, head bowed and breathing through his mouth. Kurt silently took a step forward and held up the wipe again. "Are you okay?" he asked softly.

Dave just sighed in response. He took the wipe and began scrubbing at his face, probably too roughly. "Better," he rumbled. "Thanks."

"What happened? Who did this to you?"

The wrinkled, rainbow-streaked wipe paused, shrouding Dave's face. It lowered achingly slowly. "The football team," he finally muttered. "Even Az." His voice choked on the name. "He was the first one. He... he laughed the fucking loudest..."

"What? I thought you had them under control?"

Dave's mouth twisted into a bitter grimace. "Yeah, well, there was something I forgot when I came up with my fucking ingenious plan. Over half of the guys I blackmailed were seniors. _Last year_. Now that they've graduated, there aren't enough left to keep the rest who I don't have anything on in line. They found their balls and decided to get some payback."

"Oh, God, then that means..." Kurt was a little ashamed at his selfishness, but the realization burst out of him before he could stop it. To his slight relief, Dave reacted with a grim nod.

"Yeah, that means it's open season on you guys again. I don't know how that'll shake out, but..." He paused in thought. "Maybe I need to do the Bully Whips thing again after all. Maybe that'll help..."

"You're willing to put yourself on the line again?" Kurt asked, stunned. "After what just happened? Dave, I can't believe you—"

"What, that I'm actually serious about making up for everything? Shit, I thought you'd know that by now—"

"No, I can't believe that you still think you have something to make up _for_. My God, man, every single thing you did, you've made up for a hundred times over as far as I'm concerned! Why do you still think you're—" Kurt stopped short. Dave was trembling again, but not from anger and pent-up frustration this time. His knees buckled; Kurt had to gently guide him towards the wall to keep him from keeling over. "Dave, what's the matter?"

"I..." he began in a choked voice. He had to take several deep breaths before he could continue. "When they Slushied me, I was so angry. I haven't been that angry since last year. They were circled around me, taunting me and laughing at me and I just took it, but all that time, I was thinking about how I had the power to hurt them, I mean _really_ hurt them... And God, Kurt, I wanted to, I wanted to so fucking bad. I wanted to pick them up and throw them into each other. I wanted to stuff them into lockers three at a time. I wanted slam them against the walls over and over and _over_... I could _see_ myself doing it... I felt the power building up like _it_ wanted me to do it too... I was so fucking close, Kurt." His voice dropped into a strained whisper, his eyes rimmed with tears. "I was so fucking close to letting go and using my power to hurt those guys..."

"But you didn't," Kurt said firmly, grabbing Dave's shoulders and forcing him to meet his eyes. "You didn't. You took it, because you didn't want to cause people pain anymore, even if they deserved it. God, Dave, you think anyone who's been teased or hurt _hasn't_ had the occasional revenge fantasy?" The fact that some of his starred Dave Karofsky was one judiciously not mentioned, if only because he knew Dave knew it already. It was not a point he wanted to emphasize. "The fact that you had the ability to make the fantasy a reality is irrelevant, because _you didn't_ , even when they were right in your face. You knew it was wrong, you knew it would make you just like them again, and you knew you didn't want to be that guy anymore. You took it because you are a good person and my God am I getting sick of telling you that. You are seeing Ms. Pillsbury _today_ , and no backtalk."

Dave nodded. "Okay... Yeah. I just... No, it's stupid."

"If you feel it, Dave, it's not stupid. Lay it on me."

"It just occurred to me that... maybe I was so mad because now I knew what it was like on the other side. I was just as bad as they were the last two years, and now I knew what it felt like to be you, or Finn, or Sam when I did that, and it made me really _feel_ what an asshole I was... God, how did you guys not corner me in the locker room after school and beat the shit out of me? I would've deserved it. Hell, half the fucking school would've given you medals."

"That's because glee clubbers are morally superior beings," Kurt said with a small smile. "Seriously, the reasons we didn't do that has nothing to do with you — it has to do with us. That just wasn't my way. Even if I were capable of it, I wouldn't have wanted to descend to the bully level. I will tell you one thing, Dave: if you're looking for punishment, or if you think _this_ is your punishment, you're barking up the wrong tree. I am going to continue to be a supportive friend, and there's no such thing as karma, no higher power out there enforcing divine judgment on you for your past misdeeds. Myself, I take great comfort in the cold and uncaring nature of the universe." Of course, he felt a lot less confident in this pronouncement than he would have before he found out that psychic powers were real. But that just meant he held onto the belief even tighter; it was the only way he could keep sane. "Like you keep saying, life sucks sometimes. But life is also what we make of it, and I think you have the tools necessary to carve out a pretty good one. You just need to get through the rough spots. In fact, you just went through one of them, and still did the right thing. Being able to do that is more powerful than your telekinesis will ever be."

"Thanks, Ms. Pillsbury." Kurt bristled for a second, but Dave's grin was so warm and genuine that damn, the light sarcasm felt even more of a compliment than complete sincerity would have.

"Please, don't call me that. Then I'd have to be attracted to Mr. Schue and..." Kurt shuddered. "I think even I'd have to scrub down my body with Lysol. Maybe my brain too."

"Seriously? Is he that bad?"

"Oh, he can actually be an insightful teacher sometimes, but the stories I could tell you..."

"Maybe I should see for myself, then." Kurt's breath caught in his throat. "I mean... I obviously can't go back to football or hockey, and that leaves me with no extracurriculars, and you and Finn have treated me so good that I oughta repay that, so I figure..." Dave shrugged, obviously trying to pretend it was a casual decision, no big deal. "Maybe I should give the glee club a shot."

Kurt squealed. He actually squealed like a seven year old girl. Maybe he even jumped up and down and clapped his hands in delight. He would never tell.

"Dude, can you _not_ be so happy while I'm still covered in corn syrup?"

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry." Kurt tried to suppress his smile, and felt the effort mostly fail. "We'll get you cleaned up, then we'll discuss your audition. I already have a list of possible songs I think you're gonna love..."

"Why am I not surprised?"

"Ever given any thought to choreography, or costumes? Because that'll really wow Mr. Schue..."

"I thought you said he'd take anybody."

"You want to impress us, don't you? Aha, I've got it! Sequins!"

"I regret this already."

* * *

**Backfire  
**

Kurt had wanted a magical senior year (Dave's telekinesis, while magic-like, didn't count), and despite a few bumps, it was actually looking like things were trending in that direction. Dave had killed at his audition, as predicted. The song he ended up choosing was oddly appropriate, considering it came from a superhero movie soundtrack, and was performed with an intensity that Kurt honestly hadn't expected. The reactions to his appearance had been a lot less tense than he'd feared; Finn had apparently done a good job preparing everyone, and the effort was aided and abetted, to his shock, by Santana of all people.

(Which brought up a slight oddity in her behavior: Kurt caught her talking to Dave several times in the halls, which was strange considering the dramatic breakup of the previous year. He wasn't feeling suicidal enough to question her, and Dave was oddly reticent about the issue. Still, it didn't seem to be hurting Dave, so he could leave the mystery on the back burner for now.)

Once he was in, Dave seemed to melt into the background, content to be backup and the last to volunteer for performance exercises, not to mention steadfastly refusing to audition for the musical ("Sorry, Kurt, I _do_ have limits."). While this would certainly satisfy Rachel, it mildly irritated Kurt. Any chance to boost Dave's self-esteem, and thus confidence and control, could not be missed. But the others, while not treating Dave badly, didn't seem interested in drawing him out of his shell either. That had to be fixed... But then, there was a _lot_ that needed some kind of mending. There was his NYADA party humiliation, the loss of the role of Tony (although Baby John wasn't _too_ horrible a part, and Mike did make a great Tony — the only reasons he declined Dave's offer to "arrange" a painless but humiliating "accident" for Artie), the conflict between Rachel and Mercedes that Kurt didn't have the energy to get into without getting caught in the middle...

Okay, maybe there were more than "a few" bumps. But compared to previous years, his life was practically made of golden days of repose and ambrosia. It probably helped that he decided against running for class president, despite the boost it'd give to his NYADA resume — between New Directions, school, NYADA, and Dave, a campaign would've killed him... perhaps literally.

Come to think of it, Dave's life had to be at least a little easier as well, training in his power notwithstanding. He and Finn continued to grow closer as friends, which relieved some of the burden Kurt had been shouldering on his own up to then. He was in a better, more accepting environment (even if it was still thawing — again, something that had to be fixed), doing something that he actually gave a damn about. He was seeing Ms. Pillsbury (Kurt had made _very_ sure to ascertain Dave was keeping his promise, even as he stopped short of trying to discover just what he was discussing with her) and getting his head screwed on straight. Compared to his previous life — outwardly terrific but in reality a seething cauldron of anger, paranoia, self loathing, and fear of all the ways in which he was special ("extraordinarily ordinary"... Kurt had mentally kicked himself a hundred times for that _brilliant_ bit of analysis) — it had to be, if not perfect, at least better. "Better" was a tough commodity to come by, especially in the hormone drenched concrete box that was high school.

And he, Kurt Hummel, had been a part of that. This could be the most important thing he'd ever do in his life (although if... when... he became a star, he'd be able to touch millions of lives — though never as personally as with Dave's), and it was bearing fruit. He couldn't help but feel a lot of pride in that, realizing how lucky he was that he was able to see the results of his hard work, of Dave's hard work.

Kurt was so sunk into his musings that he barely heard the bang or the screams. What did grab his attention, though, was the laughter. Three members of the McKinley baseball team were stumbling out of the cafeteria literally covered in colored flavored ice, wiping their eyes and swearing a mile a minute. As jeering passersby took advantage of the jocks' humiliation, they didn't notice Dave casually stroll out behind them, hands in his pockets... But Kurt certainly did. He sidled up to his friend as they watched the dripping trio straighten in their strides, trying to salvage some scrap of dignity.

"What happened?" Kurt asked.

Dave shrugged casually. "It was really weird. Those guys were getting themselves some Slushies when the machine just... blew up. They got, like, hosed with Slushie. Musta been a short circuit or something."

"Undoubtedly one of those common malfunctions where they all took the brunt of the slush, but didn't get hit with a single shard of glass or metal, huh?"

"Yeah. That really oughta be covered by warranty."

Kurt chuckled as the baseball players disappeared around the corner, still followed by a substantial crowd enjoying the _schadenfreude._ "You know, they could've just been getting a drink."

"Yyyeah, right. I don't think a single jock in this school has ever actually drunk a Slushie. I sure didn't." Dave turned to Kurt, the set of his eyes belying his light tone. "The machine's a loss, though, and this school is so fucking cheap that I bet it'll probably be years before they replace it, if ever."

"Mm, shame. End of an era."

"They might find another way to fuck with people, though."

"Shh, let me enjoy the triumph a moment longer, Mr. Bucket of Cold Water."

"Okay. Sorry."

Kurt inhaled deeply through his nose. For once, he smelled something other than sweaty teenager and fried cafeteria food.

It smelled like a new beginning.

Or maybe it was just lingering Axe Body Spray.

* * *

**If I Can Make It There**

"So how's that NYADA thing going?"

"As well as can be expected. I'm still deciding on my audition piece. It has to be _perfect_..."

It was a perfectly normal conversation, taking place while perfectly normal autumn leaves floated in mid air, lazily circling each other to form a spherical cloud suspended over a burly young man, his arms flung open as his mind reached out to each and every one.

Perfectly normal.

"I didn't know you still got nervous."

"That's because my stage presence is that good. But this is a major life step I'm preparing for here. Try shrinking the cloud, then expanding it again."

"Got it." Dave closed his arms, and the whirling leaves compacted, crackling as they wove into a tighter ball. He reopened his arms, and the leaves were once again free to dance, like flakes in the snow globe that still rested on Kurt's dresser.

"You're getting better, Dave. Anyway, as I've said before, I'm going to New York no matter what. But if I could get into NYADA, it could open a lot of doors for me, not to mention the education and training I'd get. I have other options, but NYADA would make a huge difference in my future career. Can you move it further away from you?"

"Yeah, I think so." True to his word, the sphere inched upwards into the air, away from Dave. Kurt gasped in wonder; no matter how many times he watched Dave exercise his power, it never failed to astonish him, especially now that his control was getting better. "You know..." The words startled Kurt out of his awe. "My dad thinks I got a pretty good chance of getting into either NYU or Columbia. Maybe both."

"Great! That really opens up our options. You think you still might want to come to New York?"

"I... I think so. I'd really feel a lot better if we at least lived close to each other. If something... happened, I'd want to be nearby. Just in case."

All sorts of scenarios ran through Kurt's mind, grim vistas of out of control telekinesis, discovery by government agents, and more — though he was sure that they'd occurred to Dave much earlier. "I understand. We'll get by, I'm sure."

"Still sucks, though. I hate that I'm putting so much on you. I hate that we don't have anyone else."

Kurt didn't have to voice his agreement. "That's the thing about secrets," he said instead. "The more people who know, the more risk that it'll be revealed. And when the secret is this big..."

"You don't have to tell me that," Dave said quietly, his eyes still focused on the swirling leaves above him. "You know another reason? Another reason I want to be in New York, I mean? I got three."

"Push on, MacDuff."

"You're so fucking weird, Hummel." It sounded like one of Karofsky's insults, but Dave's tone was so affectionately joking that Kurt didn't feel the least bit of offense. "Anyway, reason two: I realized while I was applying for colleges that most of them require freshmen to live in dorms."

It took Kurt a moment to let the implications sink in. "Ah."

"I kept thinking about all those hours when I wouldn't be able to use my power, and if I let it build, it could come out in my sleep again and then I'd be really fucked if I had a roommate." The sphere of leaves stopped cold, just for a second, then shifted towards Kurt, the eddies moving in the opposite direction. Kurt tracked it with his eyes. "That means I need a way to let it out regularly. That'd be easier if you were close."

"That it would. And reason number three?"

Dave's blush was almost as red as some of the leaves he was manipulating. "There are a lot of gay guys in New York, aren't there?"

"Oh, David, that is _such_ an understatement. The gay community at a major university, never mind in the big city? It's incredible. I mean, I've never experienced it myself, but everything I've read tells me that it's an entirely new world out there... One I'm very eager to see."

"Yeah... Me too."

"And it's not just dating, Dave — it's experiencing that community, knowing you're not alone. I know how much you feel like you're the only one — and maybe in one sense you might be — but I've been trying to help you fight that sense of isolation since day one, and I really do think the college experience will help that a lot."

"I hope so."

"I know so. Do you think you can separate them into two clouds?"

Dave's brow furrowed. "I dunno... I'll give it a shot." He frowned in concentration, and slowly, like an amoeba splitting, the leaves slowly parted into two churning clouds. But almost immediately, their movements grew erratic. "Shit, it's too much, it's—" The leaves fell from the air, showering the ground, the brush... and Kurt. "Oh, fuck, sorry..."

Kurt slowly reached up and brushed leaves out of his hair with as much dignity as he could salvage. "That's okay..." Kurt said in a brittle voice. "I... had to redo my hair anyway..."

* * *

**The Amazing Karofsky**

Dave threw the entire deck of cards into the air. As they fluttered down like leaves (like dirty rotting leaves in _your hair_ ), he snatched up one and held it up proudly — the eight of diamonds. "Is this your card?"

"Uh..." the mousy freshman on the other side of the stage said nervously, "no."

Kurt wasn't sure how many times he'd told Dave, "I'm not sure this is a good idea." The chances that someone would record the performance, that it would go viral, that it would lead someone to realize that Dave was doing more than could be explained by stage magic... But Dave argued back every point. This was the McKinley High School talent show, not _America's Got Talent_. There were hundreds of amateur magicians posting on YouTube every day. He was working in tricks that aped those of professional magicians so he could have an explanation...

But mainly, the reason Kurt gave in was Dave's enthusiasm — the way he lit up in excitement ever since he came up with the idea. It seemed that the rough and tumble hockey player was a closet magic nerd, an ardent admirer of Houdini, Copperfield, Penn and Teller... The opportunity to step into the shoes of his heroes, even with a bit of an unfair advantage, was too great to resist. And frankly, Kurt couldn't bear to snuff out that hot but fragile flare of intensity and joy — not with all the worry and fear Dave had to deal with. If he had the chance to feel good about having and using his power... Kurt couldn't keep that opportunity from Dave, not with a clear conscience.

The audience around him (especially, Kurt thought, his former athlete friends) laughed at the apparent failure. But Dave merely smiled serenely. "Oh. That's a shame. Y'know, I think I have some instructions from the Magic Guild about what to do when this kinda thing happens..."

As Kurt watched Dave make a big show of patting his tuxedo pockets, he found himself kind of glad that Dave decided to take this risk — if only to finally drive home how little he lost when he abandoned his football and hockey friends. How the hell could they still laugh at Dave after some of the tricks he'd already performed? Sure, there were a few standards, like a twist on the old "taking apart a person" game, but then there were miracles like the handkerchief in the sealed glass jug that jumped and did somersaults on command, and the shadow play, where he manipulated the shadow of a flower only for the real thing to be affected instead... Even knowing how Dave was doing it, it was incredible — the gasps from the audience certainly backed that up. It also made him a little nervous about who else could watch what was happening on that stage — someone who could correctly interpret Dave's skill — but watching Dave's face, the delight and pride he didn't even have when performing with New Directions, he couldn't quite bring himself to care.

"Huh," Dave said, "I don't seem to have it either." He looked over at the freshman. "Do you?"

Said freshman, who hadn't been within five feet of Dave from the moment he stepped on stage, blinked in confusion. "No..."

"Why don't you check your pockets, just in case?"

"What?"

"Just check, already. C'mon, there's a juggler who's dying to get on stage."

"Uh... okay, but..." He began patting his pockets. "I don't think I—" As his hand felt his left jeans pocket, he froze.

"Something the matter?" Dave asked casually.

"There's something— I don't remember there being—" He slowly reached into his pocket and drew out a slim white envelope. He gaped at Dave.

"Go ahead. Open it."

With trembling fingers, the freshman obeyed. He looked inside, and his eyes widened to comical, almost cartoon character levels. "Holy—!" He pulled a playing card out from the ripped envelope. "That's my card!" he gasped. "That's— The three of clubs! _That's my fucking card_ _!_ "

The entire audience was on its feet — even the judges, even Dave's former friends. The applause, cracked with cheers and wolf whistles from the glee club seating section, was deafening. As Kurt watched Dave take a deep, sweeping bow, he realized something: the young man on that stage was about as close to the real Dave as he'd ever seen, and Dave showed that man to the entire population of McKinley High School.

If he wasn't the most popular guy at this school by day's end, there was seriously something wrong with them all.

* * *

**The First Time  
**

Dave stood in front of the doors stock still. A couple of guys had already entered, having to walk around him, but Dave didn't seem to notice the annoyed glances.

"This... is a gay bar."

"Yes, Dave," Kurt said. "That's the point, remember?"

Kurt wished he'd been able to dissuade Dave from the denim disguise he was wearing (and disguise it was, especially with that baseball cap pulled so low over his face), but decided that he, at least, was fashionable enough for both of them. He was fairly confident that the fake IDs Puck gave them would pass muster — now if only he could just get Dave through the front door.

"I just... This is the first time I've ever done anything, y'know... gay." His eyes widened at his own words. "I mean, in public! I mean—"

Kurt waved wearily. "Yes, yes, it's all right, water under the bridge," he sighed. There was another reason Kurt was so encouraging of this little excursion: maybe Dave would get another kiss from a guy, one not fraught with so much shame and guilt. Then maybe he could finally let go of it and acknowledge that Kurt had already done the same. "Look, think of me as your moral support. And your wingman, if need be." He winked broadly; he couldn't resist. Dave cracked a smile, at least, so that was progress. "Remember why we're here: these are our people. They won't judge, they won't out. They've been where you are, and they'll understand." Kurt knew he was speaking with a lot more certainty that was warranted, given the wide spectrum of humanity in even the gay community, but with Dave's state of mind, he also knew that this wasn't the time to be realistic. "I know this is a big step; that's why I'm here with you. You don't even have to talk to anyone else while we're inside. Just... put one foot in front of the other, okay?" He placed a hand on Dave's shoulder and gently shoved him forward; Dave stumbled a few steps as if he'd been hit by a car. "Come on, I'm going in whether you do or not; I'm curious. If you want to stand outside all night, that's fine, but I really think you'd have more fun inside." With that, he stepped up to the bouncer, and confidently showed his ID. The bouncer's eyes flickered from card to face a lot longer than Kurt expected. Still, with a weary shrug, he gave the card back and waved him in. Kurt looked back expectantly before stepping inside.

Scandals wasn't a particularly sophisticated place, but then, in small town Ohio, he didn't really have many high expectations. But it had a bar, it had karaoke, it had some semblance of effort at decor, and it had a room full of men of varying shapes, sizes, and styles being affectionate with each other. So all in all, it was perfect.

Kurt felt Dave's presence behind him before he actually turned to see it. He was standing just inside the door (again causing some annoyance to patrons who wanted to get in and out), wearing a shell-shocked stare. Kurt could hear him swallow even over the music and chatter. "Shit..."

"Good or bad?"

"I... don't know yet."

"Well..." Kurt took hold of Dave's upper arm, which was hard with tension, "we have the evening to figure that out. What do you want to do first? There's pool, karaoke, we can get a drink..."

"Drink," Dave said immediately. "I need a fucking drink."

Kurt, as the designated driver (not to mention the fact that Dave was a little leery of his car being seen at a gay bar), had a Diet Coke as Dave ordered a beer. As he drank, he was silent, choosing instead to people watch, observing the parade of subculture stereotypes go by. Someone was singing "Harper Valley PTA" on stage; Kurt allowed his mind to wander on what his first song should be should he decide to give karaoke a go. Dave certainly wouldn't, definitely not on his first visit. It would probably take at least four to break down that particular barrier. Maybe he'd have better luck in New York...?

Dave finished his beer, and turned towards the bartender. Suddenly, a blond young man in a green shirt appeared next to him, as if he'd formed out of the aether. He was about their age — certainly not that much older, if at all. "Whatever he wants, it's on me." The blond turned towards Dave with a smile that failed to strike Kurt as anything but predatory. "Sebastian. Hi." He held out a hand.

Dave took the hand and shook, looking in a daze. "Dave."

"Dave..." Sebastian rolled the name around on his tongue, and Kurt immediately stiffened in alert. Something about this guy... He'd always heard about love at first sight, but he didn't realize there was such a thing as its diametric opposite... Not until this moment. "First time at Scandals?"

"Yeah." Dave paused just long enough to take his new bottle of beer from the bartender and take a sip. "It's, uh... interesting."

"That it is. Bear cub like you should be popular here."

"Bear cub?"

"You don't know what that is? There's an empty table over there. Why don't we go sit down and I'll explain...?"

"Sounds like an excellent idea," Kurt cut in. "I'll come with you."

The oily grin on Sebastian's face shattered; he regarded Kurt with all the interest of a smashed bug on the bottom of his shoe. "I'm sorry, I don't think I was talking to you."

"I'm Kurt." With anyone else, he would've offered a handshake at this point, but he didn't want to, and had the distinct impression that Sebastian wouldn't take it anyway. "I'm a friend of Dave's."

"Really." Sebastian raised both eyebrows. "Huh." He turned to Dave. "So anyway," he continued, completely ignoring Kurt and the daggers being sent in his direction, "I'll be happy to welcome you to the world of Scandals. Why don't we go somewhere more private and—"

"Uh, thanks," Dave said, nervously glancing back at Kurt, "but this is my first time and all, so I'd rather... take things kinda slow."

"Ah, the nervous type. Y'know, that's kinda cute." Sebastian traced a finger along Dave's jacket collar; Dave was staring at it, trembling, and it took everything Kurt had not to slap Sebastian's hand away. "You're not my usual type, but there's just something about you... If you want, I know a few ways to _really_ pop your gay bar cherry. I definitely think it'll help... relieve your tension."

Dave was blushing furiously, with nothing but strangled noises coming out of his throat. Kurt had had enough.

"I think you should back off."

Sebastian cast a baleful glare at Kurt. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize I was talking to you. Here, I'll do it now: _you_ should be the one to back off. Dave here's a big boy..." He paused a moment to leer; Kurt's stomach churned. It was like everything about this man rubbed him the wrong way. "He can make his own decisions about who he wants to talk to."

"I know he can, but he doesn't need to get the hard sell from an Abercrombie and Fitch reject either."

"And why is that your business?" The charm and patience was quickly draining from Sebastian's voice. "What, are you the bitchy boyfriend or something?"

"Like I said, I'm a friend, not that you'd know anything about _that_."

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean? Just because you can't get a guy who's not pre-op..."

Dave's spine straightened. "Hey, wait a fucking minute—" he began.

But Sebastian was too wound up to hear; his entire attention was on Kurt. "... That doesn't mean you have to ruin things for someone with a better life. So why don't you run back home, call your little girlfriends, and have a good cry with a face mask and a pint of Ben and Jerry's, and let things here run their natural course?"

"I didn't know there was anything 'natural' about straddling some guy in a bathroom stall..."

"Spoken like someone who'll never get the chance."

"Don't you have an A&E reality show to go audition for?"

"Cute. I'm sure that wit will be a great comfort when you're a 65 year old virgin with three cats."

"Hey," Dave broke in angrily. Sebastian seemed almost startled to realize he was even there. "Look, I'm flattered, but I'm still gonna say no."

Sebastian shrugged. "Suit yourself. You know where to find me if you change your mind and decide to dump the cold fish here." He looked at Kurt and sniffed contemptuously. "You should go find a retirement home bingo night or something. That's more your speed." He strode off across the dance floor.

"What an asshole," Dave snorted.

"You're telling me." Kurt was growing slightly more ashamed of himself as he calmed down. He didn't usually let someone get that kind of rise out of him, but the way he was treating Dave, who'd already been through enough and was nervous enough about being gay without having his first interaction be with a predator... It blew his blood pressure just thinking about it.

He glanced back towards Sebastian, just to make sure the guy was still making himself scarce. He was making his way towards the back; a busboy carrying a large tray covered with half-empty drink glasses was about to cross his path.

An evil impulse flooded over Kurt. Normally, he wouldn't have indulged. Normally, he would've counseled himself to take the high road, not risk Dave being discovered, not encourage him to use his power for anything but good...

But fuck all that. Sebastian had struck his nerves too hard, angered him too much, insulted him too much. Kurt wasn't a saint; he was human, and humans could always be pushed just a tiny bit too far.

He turned to Dave; his friend had a wicked gleam in his eye that told him they were sharing similar thoughts. "Do it," Kurt growled.

Dave turned back towards the dance floor, and in the next instant, chaos broke loose. Sebastian _tripped_ , slamming right into the busboy. The glasses slid off his tray, dumping a mixture of stale alcohol all over a table of drag queens. They rose as one, dripping wet and screeching. Their baleful, intoxicated glares immediately turned to Sebastian, who was just regaining his balance. "Motherfu—!" one cried. "You _bitch_!"

"Hey, I'm sorry, I—"

"You'd better pay for cleaning these dresses, asshole!"

Kurt was pretty sure that normally, Sebastian would've been able to smooth things over, charm the group into calming down. But apparently, his tete a tete with Kurt had also shortened his temper. "Yeah, fine, RuPoor," he snapped. "I think I've got a buck fifty in my pocket somewhere."

"Oh, _HELL_ no!" It was a roar worthy of Mercedes at her most outraged.

What followed was a blur of screaming and slapping. It took two bouncers and the bartender to break up the fracas, and everyone involved, including Sebastian, was unceremoniously booted out for the night.

"Well!" Kurt said after it was all over, feeling remarkably lighter. "That was fun, but why don't we play some pool? I warn you, though: my grandfather taught me a thing or two about trick shots."

"Hah!" Dave also had a satisfied aura about him. "Bring it on!"

About two hours later, Kurt was driving Dave home. There'd been some pool, some more drinking, and even a turn at the karaoke machine for Kurt (a turn that ended with a hearty round of applause, especially from Dave). The drive was mostly silent, with Dave looking out the window. If he'd been free from the responsibility to pay attention to the road, Kurt might've been doing the same. It hadn't been a perfect evening by any means, but it had been a start, and a start was enough.

"Penny for your thoughts?" he said.

Dave didn't answer for a long minute. Finally, he spoke, his gaze not leaving the star-streaked night outside. "Mind if we go back sometime? I..." He let out a breath. "I think there's still more there I need to do."

"Of course, Dave. Anytime."


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Those reading this, be glad: I decided to resolve the events of "Heart" in this section, so you get more wordage than usual. :) You also get my thoughts, indirectly, on why I decided to limit Dave and Kurt to being friends in this story.

**Mash Off**

Dodgeball. Was there another sport so useless (even more so than most other sports), or another word that struck more fear in the unpopular? Fortunately for Kurt, he'd always been small and lithe, so the "dodge" part came a lot easier to him than most. Jacob ben Israel, for example, was as awkward physically as he was socially, so often got the brunt of the punishment whenever the game was played.

Then again, considering his hideous personality, it was almost justified in his case.

So when Finn announced his challenge to Santana, Kurt had rolled his eyes; of course only a jock would come up with _that_ brilliant idea, and only an alpha female would accept. Still, he could tell that Finn was having trouble dealing with Santana — he'd learned what the Finn Hudson "god, I want to say something so bad, but I can't and it's killing me" expression was like, having seen it often at home, especially the dinner table. His poor stepbrother was wearing that expression often of late when it came to her. It was all due to Kurt's positive influence, of course. It seemed he had a touch for improving the personality of jocks; maybe, he thought, he should market his skills as a service. From what he understood, the NFL could use someone like him.

Thinking of New Directions at dodgeball inevitably brought his mind to Dave. Thus, he carefully told his friend to not use his power at the game, "not even if a dodgeball is flying directly at your face. Or mine." It was just a stupid game that didn't mean anything, and the balls didn't hurt enough to risk Dave's being exposed. "So please... Just keep your cool, okay?"

Dave nodded. "Okay." Damn, why couldn't everyone be so understanding and compliant?

When the day of the game arrived, though, Kurt couldn't help but be a little tense. Though he was certain Dave intended to keep his word, circumstances and emotions could be tricky things. Dave's growing comfort with his power was double-edged; he was at the point where he could very easily use it on pure instinct before he could think about it. In fact, that was what they were currently training to prevent, but the progress there was a little slow. So when the red rubber balls started flying, Kurt kept as close an eye on Dave as he was able to while ducking and weaving through the onslaught (because it might have been a silly, unimportant game, but come on, he still had his pride). When he was finally out, he managed to watch on the sidelines; it _looked_ like the game was being played with no psychic interference. Eventually Finn and Santana were the last ones left. When the latter won, and she taunted the vanquished New Directions, Kurt saw _that_ expression again on Finn's face, the tightness of his curled fists. But not a word came out of his mouth, reminding Kurt just why he thought he could teach Dave in the first place.

That wasn't to say there wasn't trouble. After most of the members of New Directions left the gym, the stragglers were stopped by the Troubletones, who still had their balls. "Get out of the way," Santana snarled, "unless you wanna share in the pain." Her baleful glare was directed at the new guy, Rory, who instantly paled. Santana seemed to have some kind of vendetta against him; Kurt had no idea what it was about, but who knew when it came to her?

Suddenly, the shaking Irishman disappeared behind a wall of football player. "Santana," Dave said. The word was low and tight, infused with warning and... something else? Kurt couldn't tell. The two locked stares for long minutes — long enough for even Rory to break through his fear and start to get antsy. Finally, the dodgeball in Santana's hand bounced against the floor at her feet.

"Whatever," Santana snorted. "C'mon," she continued, waving at her fellow Troubletones, "I'm tired of looking at all of them." She and the somewhat disappointed looking Troubletones left.

"Thank you," Rory rasped, grabbing at Dave's arm. "Thank you so much. I don't know how you did that, but thank you thank you thank you..."

Kurt had as little idea what had just happened as Rory did, and from the way Dave was still staring at the spot Santana had recently vacated, answers weren't forthcoming. But he was very careful to point out later that Dave just played hero again, and without using his power, no less. Dave just turned beet red and mumbled something about needing to do homework.

Kurt thought that was the end of it. He was quite wrong.

* * *

**I Kissed a Girl  
**

"I'm gay. Anybody got a problem with that?"

The entire choir room screeched to a halt. Kurt felt his jaw drop in what was probably a very unflattering manner. But he couldn't help himself. He'd been expecting a coming out sooner rather than later...

"Okay, fine, lesbian. Whatever."

But not _this_ one.

Santana was standing in front of New Directions (and directly in front of a discombobulated Mr. Schuester, whose giving of assignments she'd interrupted without a word of warning), her arms crossed defiantly. As a member of the Troubletones, she wasn't even supposed to _be_ there to begin with, yet there she was, just sweeping in arm in arm with Brittany. It was a very dramatic, Santana method of announcement, really. It was almost impressive.

More than a few of Kurt's fellow glee club members were helplessly glancing around the room, as if searching for some sign on how to respond. Where Santana was concerned, there were more than a few possible pitfalls to literally any answer, and it seemed that nobody was willing to take the first step into the minefield. There were two people who seemed entirely unsurprised and unfazed: Brittany and, oddly enough, Dave. Both were interesting in their own way, but Kurt had little time to ponder before finally, someone spoke.

"... No...?" Tina said tentatively.

"Good." She didn't sit down, despite Mr. Schuester telling her to with his eyes (Kurt was pretty sure he wasn't telling her to out loud mainly because, again, she was damn scary at the moment). Finn raised an uncertain hand. "What?!" she snapped.

"A-are you gonna be... y'know... public? Or are you telling just us?"

Santana rolled her eyes. "If I wasn't gonna be public, I wouldn't be telling you people in the first place. God knows it's gonna be all over this school in the next two hours." She cast a hard look towards Rachel, who didn't appear to notice through her shock.

"So... do you need...?" Finn trailed off again, as if reconsidering the wisdom of having said even those words to begin with.

"I don't _need_ anything, especially not from any of _you_. I can handle the bacteria at this school myself. I'm just starting with you because not even you people would be hypocritical enough to bust my ass and leave Kurt alone." Her gaze hardened; Kurt hadn't known that was possible. "Got any more stupid questions?"

"No, no," Finn said meekly, shrinking in his chair.

Kurt glanced around at the lines of shell-shocked faces, which only made Brittany's blinding smile and Dave's careful neutrality all the more striking. He'd promised himself that he wouldn't interrogate Dave about the time he and Santana were spending talking, but dammit, he really would have to interrogate Dave about the time he and Santana were spending talking.

"Uh..." Artie was the one to ask the question, which was a sign of either his courage or his lack of foresight. "Why?" Several of the other members of New Directions cringed. Mike actually averted his eyes.

But Santana didn't seem to register the questioner, only the question. She glanced at Brittany, who gave her a small nod. When she finally answered, there was no edge to her voice, no anger, no expectant frustration — perhaps the most shocking turn of all. "Because I only have one more year with Brittany, and I'll be damned if I'm going to waste a second of it because I was too chickenshit to show her the love she deserves."

Kurt caught Dave nodding at that. Oh, he _really_ was going to have to be interrogated.

There was dead silence. Nobody so much as twitched a muscle. Kurt sighed; it looked like he'd have to take the lead _again_. He turned to Dave. "You were thinking about reviving the Bully Whips, weren't you?"

"Yeah, I was, why...?" Dave's eyes brightened. "Oh, sure..."

"Wait just a fucking second!" Santana cut in. "I am _not_ gonna let you follow me around in that stupid outfit! I'll look like a total loser!"

"The outfits were _your_ idea," Dave pointed out.

"Details. I'm still not letting you do it."

"So you'll just let you and Brittany be sitting ducks for whoever wants to take a crack at knocking you down?"

Santana froze at the mention of Brittany's name, but she managed to say, "I said I can take care of them myself."

"Hey, I agree with her," Puck broke in. "If I'm gonna be a Bully Whip, I'm not getting anywhere near those stupid hats."

Everyone turned to stare at Puck. "What?" Kurt finally asked, giving voice to the question on everyone's mind.

"You think I don't want in on that action?" Puck shot back. "Defending the defenseless and all that shit? Once chicks see my sensitive side, they'll be all over me! I'll be a bigger badass than ever!"

"You know..." Sam began, "it's not a bad idea. Safety in numbers and all that. And who'd want to go up against first string football players?"

"I'm in," Quinn said. "Anyone who'd be stupid enough to mess with a Cheerio putting down bullies deserves whatever Coach Sylvester does to them."

"That way, you're not singled out," Kurt said to Santana. "It'll be everyone, the way you and Dave did it last year. Only bigger and better."

Santana, for perhaps the first time in her high school life, looked like she didn't know what to say. "I..."

"Oh, just say yes already!" Brittany cut in with mild irritation. "I don't care about hats or jackets or any of that, as long as you're okay!"

Santana's reply was a series of rapid blinks. The room held its breath; if she reacted with any open emotion, they'd all have to remain as stone-faced as possible to avoid some kind of misunderstanding that would inevitably result in a blowup. Fortunately, she managed to swallow whatever she was feeling, and nod. "Okay. Yeah." Then her voice strengthened. "I'd better get the credit, though. That whole Bully Whips thing was _my_ idea from the start."

"Oh, this is exciting!" Rachel squealed. "My dads have a lot of experience in community organizing, so I'll bring them in as consultants! If we don't wear the jackets and berets — and I agree that most would probably consider them fashion 'don'ts' — then maybe we could wear buttons. No, badges! We should decide on a motto..."

"Okay, that's it, I'm done. Later, losers." Santana swept out of the room, pulling Brittany with her. As Rachel pouted at the interruption, Kurt stole another glance at Dave, who seemed to read the questions in his eyes and quickly looked away.

As if he'd get off that easily.

* * *

**The Interrogation**

"You already knew, didn't you, Dave?"

"... Yeah."

"From the very start."

"Yeah."

"Okay, I understand why you didn't tell me, but what I want to know is, did you have anything to do with her coming out?"

"Kind of. Not in the way you're thinking, though."

"But you two have been talking."

"A little, yeah."

"What about?"

"Gee, Hummel, I don't see how it's any of your business."

"Oh, it's not. I'm insatiably curious and incredibly nosy. That's how I found out about you in the first place, remember? You gotta take the bad with the good. Now spill."

"Demanding, aren't you?"

"It's part of my charm."

"... Yeah. Anyway, she called me near the end of summer—"

"Wait, _she_ called _you_?"

"Yeah. She wanted to know if I was gonna be a pathetic closet case forever."

"... How charming."

"She was really tempted to come out, but she was really scared at the same time. At first, she tried to get me to come out with her, so she wouldn't be alone."

"Did you think about it?"

"Yeah. A lot, actually. But I didn't want to start at school, in public."

"Reasonable. And once Santana figured out you weren't?"

"She went all sarcastic on me and hung up. But she called back anyway later to talk. I don't think she particularly wanted to, either, but I guess I was the only one she felt comfortable going to besides Brittany."

"And you encouraged her to come out?"

"That's the thing: not really. I just... listened. She convinced herself to come out. But I'll admit that I'm not sure she would've if I hadn't promised to have her back."

"Promised?"

"Okay, she threatened me until I said I would. But I totally would've anyway."

"Of course. Because you're a—"

"If you call me a fucking hero one more time, I'm gonna put you up a tree and leave you there!"

"I'd like to see you try. I'll have you know that I was quite a climber as a kid, and I never once failed to get back down again."

"Okay, then, how about a telephone pole, Mr. Smartass?"

"If your threats hadn't ceased to worry me months ago, I might be intimidated."

"Well, fuck."

* * *

**Hold On To Sixteen**

It was Dave's first competition, so of course Rachel demanded his time to make sure he was prepared (prepared to contribute, or prepared not to embarrass everyone, especially her? It was an open question). Kurt was glad, though, for the advice he'd given Dave: "Antiperspirant. Lots of it." It had mostly been based on the fact that they'd be wearing white tuxes, and with Dave having just mopped his forehead for the fifth time in the last half hour alone, it seemed that Kurt's sartorial instincts were once again right on the money.

"My fucking _parents_ are in the audience!" Dave hissed. "They've been questioning me about leaving the football team and joining glee since the start of the year. Now I've gotta perform in front of them!" He froze. "And all those other people..."

"See, this is why we had those other in-school performances," Kurt said soothingly. "To get you used to the spotlight. Besides, it's no different from the football field or the hockey rink. In fact, it's better, because only the judges will actually be able to tell your individual contribution from everyone else's."

"Which is why you need to be at your best so you don't drag the rest of us down," Rachel said as she breezed by. Kurt shot daggers at her retreating back; she, of course, didn't notice.

"Don't pay any attention to her," he said, turning back to the once more sweating Dave. "You've been rehearsing your ass off; I've seen and heard it from you. You're going to be _fine_ , okay?"

"What if..." Dave bit his lip. "What if... _it_ happens while I'm onstage?"

"That's why we've been training, Dave. I would've suggested you play sick if I thought there'd be the slightest chance you could expose yourself. The fact that I'm about to shove you onto that stage whether you like it or not should speak volumes to you."

"Places!" Mr. Schue cried. "We're on in five minutes!"

Dave literally jumped. "Oh god!"

"Just think about the steps. Just think about the notes." Kurt straightened Dave's tie. "You know you love this. You're going to be fine."

When it was all over, Kurt resisted the urge to pile on the "I told you so"s. He didn't need to. Seeing Dave's jubilant face, seeing New Directions and Troubletones alike draw him into their embraces, make him part of their family... That was reward enough.

Plus Kurt could totally rub it in later.

* * *

**Extraordinary Merry Christmas**

It was three days before Christmas when Dave called. Once again, they were taking a holiday break from training, and he honestly hadn't expected to hear from his friend until the new year. That this was a rare call — not a text or e-mail — instantly set Kurt's heart pounding. It could be nothing, of course... But it could also be _everything_.

He tapped the answer button.

"Dave?"

"I came out." The words were breathless and rushed, without even a moment of hesitation or set-up. Not that they were needed.

Kurt gasped aloud. "You came out," he repeated like a dunce.

"To my dad."

"When? How?"

"About... an hour ago? It just kind of... happened. Mom is out doing some last minute Christmas shopping, and Dad and I were in the kitchen making dinner, and it just felt like the right time." Dave's exhale tickled Kurt's ear, even though he knew that was physically impossible (then again, telekinesis was physically impossible too). "Maybe it wasn't the right time, but I felt like if I didn't say anything, I'd explode. Or else just never say it at all."

There was silence on the other end. It was fortunate for Dave that this was just a phone call, or else Kurt might well have given in to his urge to grab him by the collar and shake further information out of him. "And?!"

"It... it was weird. I think everything Mom and St. Luke's had been saying to me sort of came together in his head, because he cried and apologized a lot. I mean a _lot_."

"So he's fine with...?"

"Well, I'm not sure how _fine_ he is with it, but... I think he accepts it. He said he loves me, and that he's not going to tell Mom, and that he'll try to work on her to get her to stop going to St. Luke's..." Dave's voice became choked near the end; Kurt was pretty close to it himself, so he understood.

"Dave, I can't begin to express how proud of you I am right now, and how relieved. Your dad had to make a choice, and he chose you." Images of Burt Hummel came into his mind — unbidden, but natural.

"It's not really a big deal..."

"It is, and I won't let you think of it as anything _but_ a big deal. Maybe it doesn't feel that way, compared to your... gift, but it is. It's you being the man you always were. It's you being honest with yourself and your loved ones. It's you being less afraid."

"All that courage is yours, Kurt. I'm just borrowing it."

"You could also stand to borrow a little of my self-esteem, you know."

"I know, I know... I've been talking with Ms. Pillsbury about it..."

"Good. Now I have an assignment for you."

"Aw, come on," Dave whined jokingly. "It's Christmas!"

"Your assignment," Kurt continued as if he'd never been interrupted, "is to spend time with your dad talking about this. Make sure the two of you are on the same page. Research LGBT resources together. Describe your perfect guy, whatever. Get him used to you being gay, and show him how little you've really changed from the son he thought he knew. In other words — bond."

"Bond, huh?" Dave said thoughtfully. "I guess... I dunno, I haven't felt close to my parents in a long time."

The reason, the key reason, didn't need saying aloud. Anything, _anything_ Kurt could do to encourage Dave to reconnect to humanity, to ease the feeling of isolation he had just having the power, he'd do. Whether Dave felt like he could now tell his dad about that power... Well, that was a question for another day. This was a time for victory. "Then maybe this is your opportunity. It sounds like your dad carries a lot of guilt for the way he treated you in the past. Do you forgive him for that?"

"What? Of course I do."

"Then you need to let him know that. Let him know that his past mistakes won't haunt him, or you, forever. Show him how you really feel, and help him understand you better."

"... This is one of those things that's supposed to be about one thing, but it's really about something else, right?"

"Why, whatever made you think that, Dave?" Kurt's exaggeratedly innocent tone made them both laugh.

"Okay, I'll try." A pause. "Thanks, Kurt. I can't even express how grateful for everything you've done for me."

"Of course, Dave. Now you go and light a fire or have Christmas cookies or whatever you do at the Karofsky household."

"Carols, actually. My mom is big on carols."

"Ah, so that's where the performer's instinct came from!"

"Yeah, I guess." Another pause. "Merry Christmas, Kurt."

"And a merry Christmas to you too, David."

* * *

**Michael**

Kurt was warned — he couldn't say the signs weren't out there.

The biggest, of course, was finding out that Sebastian, that bastard from Scandals, was a member of the Dalton Academy Warblers, had somehow made himself its sole leader, overthrowing the council that had once commanded the group. How he'd done it was murky, but it really didn't matter; he did it.

The second was seeing him arm-in-arm with Blaine Anderson. Kurt had decidedly mixed feelings about _that_. He didn't quite know exactly what kind of relationship they had; any attempt to find out was met with flippant and deliberately provocative remarks from Sebastian and silence from Blaine. Plus there was the fact that Blaine looked decidedly... _uncomfortable_ — uncomfortable with Sebastian's sarcasm, with Sebastian's arrogant guarantees of Warbler victory, with just being on Sebastian's arm to begin with. It made Kurt wonder. A lot.

The whole Michael-off was absurd, of course, but it wasn't like artists throughout history hadn't done even more absurd things for their art. He'd expected a lot of dancing around, a lot of trash talk, a lot of testosterone.

What he didn't expect was the Slushie.

He wasn't sure what was worse: that it ruined his outfit, or that it was _so damn cold_ — much colder than any other Slushie he'd ever suffered. How they'd found out about that little McKinley tradition, he wasn't sure (though he later remembered mentioning it once to Blaine during their flurry of texting way back when — God, it felt like years ago), but that didn't make the Slushie any warmer or fade the stains on his outfit.

But even as his nerves and sense of decorum were going into overdrive, one thought kept his mind sharp and focused: _Dave_. He turned to his friend, dressed in leather and denim, a bandanna tied around his head. Dave's fists were clenched, his stare at the Warblers practically seething with hate. Sebastian's laughter just kept echoing and echoing — why wasn't it _stopping_ , did he have some kind of infinite lung capacity or something? Was time somehow extending, the moment stretching like bubble gum? Or was it just Kurt's imagination?

"Dave..." he began, unable to raise his voice above the shivers running through his body. _Please calm down. Please don't._ He couldn't help but be worried; even with all the training, a lot of Dave's power still ran on his emotions, and emotions were running high. There was a crackling in the air... Was it tension, or telekinesis building within Dave's body, his mind? "Dave..." he began again, trying to warn him, trying to plead with him... But what could he say? What could he say that would both help and wouldn't give him away?

God, was Sebastian ever going to stop laughing?

"What the fuck, dude?!" Puck stepped forward in front of the entire group. "You think that's fucking _funny_? What kind of fucking douchebag _are_ you?"

"Like you haven't done a lot worse," Sebastian sneered. Puck actually deflated at that. "Just a friendly taste of what you can expect if you go up against us."

"Friendly?!" Finn burst out. "You're nothing but fucking bullies!"

Kurt saw Blaine shift uncomfortably. Sebastian, for his part, merely shrugged. "We're competitors. We _win_. I suggest you stay out of our way if you don't want more of the same."

Santana spat out something in Spanish. "If you think you're going to get away with—"

"With what? It's just a Slushie. Something people tossed around every day where you come from." Sebastian's gaze focused on Puck, then Finn, then Dave. "I hear it was a popular pastime at McKinley."

 _Please don't, Dave. They're not worth it..._ He tried to actually say it, risk be damned, but his teeth just wouldn't stop chattering... His fingers scrabbled at his shirt, peeling the sodden, chilly cloth from his skin. He barely heard the continued yelling between the two groups as he shed his soaked jacket and shirt; his pants were also wet, but there was no way he was going to get rid of _that_. He shivered in the cool evening air when a warmth settled over his shoulders. Dave, now jacket-less, nodded to him. He seemed calmer now, which warmed Kurt even more than the jacket; the relief was an almost physical feeling.

It was only afterward, as the two groups separated (miraculously without casualties), that the relief was snuffed out. Dave was walking Kurt to his car ("The bastards may still be lurking around somewhere, and I'm gonna make sure you're safe."); they were halfway through the lot when Dave abruptly halted.

"Dave...?" Kurt followed his friend's eyes around them, pulling Dave's jacket tighter over his bare chest. "What are you looking for? There's no one else here."

"I'm so sorry..." Dave's voice was strangled, distressed; Kurt could see actual tears starting to well.

"Sorry...? For what?"

"For not doing something. I should have protected you. I should've kept you safe from that kind of shit. But I just stood there and _let_ that motherfucker Slushie you because all I was thinking about was myself and I'm still no better than he is and I'm so sorry..." Dave's knees buckled; Kurt caught his arm as he started to sink.

"Dave..."

"I was too scared that everyone would find out about my power, but what fucking use is it if I can't protect the people I... I care about? I did nothing because I'm just a selfish coward who doesn't give a shit about anyone but himself..."

Kurt had never hated anyone as much as he hated Sebastian Smythe at that moment — and it wasn't even for something he did, or could've ever anticipated. "David, you're emotional right now, and I understand, but you're not thinking clearly. Just calm down for a second and _think_ , for God's sake. You honestly believe I would've preferred it if you'd exposed your power because of a _Slushie_?"

"Has nothing to do if I should've done it anyway," Dave muttered. "And no one would've ever known that it was me who did it..."

"What, no one there would've been suspicious that the _laws of physics_ were suddenly changed for a second? What if it'd been Sebastian who'd figured it out? What do you think he would've done with that information? And it happened so fast... Would you really have been able to plan it out so that no one would know or notice?" There was silence, which Kurt interpreted as a good thing. "You know what _I_ was thinking when it happened? That I was glad that you didn't do anything. It's just a Slushie." Kurt was about to say that he was used to facing them, but decided that this was not the time to bring up old, bad memories for Dave. "It wasn't worth risking your _life_ for, and that's exactly what could've happened if you'd interfered. Stop trying to be perfect, or thinking you have to give away everything of yourself to fix the world. You don't have to, and you don't need to. It's okay to think about yourself and let the rest of us powerless mundanes solve their own problems." Kurt grinned — and it was actually genuine. "That's how I prefer to operate anyway."

Dave sniffled, wiping at his eyes with his palm. "I just... I hate that I used to do that to you... to everyone. I didn't know what you guys were really like then, and... It just makes me feel guiltier, y'know?"

"Still dwelling in the past. Something else to bring up to Ms. Pillsbury. Think about the future instead. We're going to New York in less than six months. You'll get into NYU or Columbia and I'll get into NYADA. You'll have better control of your power and you can become the city's first superhero. I'll be your wise mentor and costume designer. See? I've worked all this out already. Don't disappoint me."

Dave laughed, and God did both of them need that. "Yeah... Yeah, sounds good." He shook his head. "I just... I just wish..."

"I know." Kurt patted Dave's arm. "And I appreciate it. Just... I can take care of myself most of the time, okay? Go ahead and think about yourself. You can't fully trust anyone else to do that but you, and there's a lot in you to take care of. You do not have _anything_ to be sorry for, and that's coming from the person you think you wronged. Understood?"

"Got it."

"Good. Now are we done? I'm getting colder by the second."

"Oh, shit, yeah. Yeah, we're done."

Eventually, a detente of sorts was reached between the two groups; tension still remained, and a lot of it, but at least New Directions was no longer inclined to tear out the throats of the Warblers one by one. Granted, most of it resulted from efforts made by Blaine and the other Warblers _not_ named Sebastian, but it still eased the cold war tremendously.

Speaking of Sebastian, Santana tried to go to Dalton to get something on him that they could take to the show choir governing bodies, but failed. Dave had gone with her for support and intimidation purposes, to little apparent effect — "apparent" because the Warblers' Facebook pages (monitored by Artie as part of the information gathering effort) were suddenly alive with reports of an unusual spate of bad luck on their part. Everything from car trouble to stuck dorm doors to broken smartphones were mentioned — all happening only to Warblers, and all coinciding with Santana and Dave's visit to Dalton.

Strange, that.

* * *

**Heart**

"I love you."

With those three words, Kurt's world shattered.

It was February 14, and Kurt had suggested the second annual Hummel-Karofsky Valentine's Day Sucks Supper, an invitation Dave readily accepted. As all the restaurants were booked up as expected (with Breadstix closed to become the Sugar Shack; neither boy was certain what to make of _that_ little soiree), the two decided on Taco Bell this year. Kurt had barely noticed Dave staring at him through the meal; he was too busy refueling after a particularly grueling day of school, rehearsals, and training. He was just about through his nachos (his food splurge for the week; it wasn't like he wasn't burning calories like crazy these days anyway) when Dave said _the words_.

He didn't remember much afterward about what he was thinking and feeling at the time. The one clear image that was burnt into his brain was Dave's face: wide-eyed, mouth open with lower lip trembling, stunned at the words he himself had said. But that mental image was always accompanied by what happened next. Dave shut his mouth, swallowed, and repeated, in a soft, hoarse voice: "I love you."

"I, uh..." Kurt had always thought of himself as a quick witted, articulate man; such was necessary in the worlds he traveled in: bully victim, glee club member, friend of Rachel Berry and other assorted lunatics. Never had he ever suffered such a complete failure of mind and tongue. No, even that wasn't right; Dave had caused an earlier failure too, though with his lips and his mind instead of his words.

"I know this sounds out of the blue, but it's not. I've loved you for a long fucking time," Dave hurried on, as if chasing his own fleeing courage. "I just didn't realize it... or else I was too much of a fucking coward to say something. But I just couldn't stand it anymore. You... You're smart, funny, brave, kind... And hot, God, you're hot..." Kurt was pretty sure he utterly failed not to blush. "You've treated me with so much respect that I didn't deserve, you probably literally saved my life, and watching you feel so alone's been tearing me up inside. But you're not, Kurt, not as long as I'm alive. You're a special guy, Kurt, as special as you think I am, and..." With only a single jerk of hesitation, he reached out. "For the first time in my life..." His hand fell over Kurt's, rough and warm. "I'm trying to be honest about what I feel."

Kurt stared down at their hands and oh God _so_ many things were clicking into place. Somewhere, he felt sure Santana was laughing her ass off.

Two words kept floating through his mind as he looked into Dave's hopeful, almost pleading eyes: _I can't_. He wasn't entirely certain, but he was pretty sure he regretted that impulse. Did he _want_ to love Dave? Or did he "only" think he deserved to be loved?

 _He loves me_. It explained so much... Not the least of which was the reason he trusted Kurt to guide him in something neither of them knew nothing about to begin with. Why follow Kurt's every instruction, every word, every suggestion — Kurt, who was basically a stranger to him before? Sure, he must've been desperate, but... If there was love there from the start, that would certainly make sense.

Oh, God, Dave was in love with him. What could he say? _I love you, but I'm not_ in _love with you?_ Dave would be entirely justified in telekinetically throttling him for even _thinking_ of saying something so trite and dismissive.

Dave cleared his throat; Kurt's head shot up. How long had he been lost in his own mind? "I'm pretty sure you being this quiet is my answer," he said, his affect much too flat.

"Dave, I'm so sorry," Kurt said. Dave's hand was still atop his; under normal circumstances, Kurt would've squeezed it, but would that be too painful in this instance? Would it be leading him on? "I... I really like being your friend, but..."

"No, it's okay."

Kurt shook his head. "There's nothing wrong with you, I swear. I just... I'm just not ready for something like this..."

"From me."

"From anyone, maybe." Even Kurt wasn't sure how truthful he was being, though it was certainly true that keeping Dave's secret would make any relationship of his more complex... Not that Dave had to know that. Ever. "I know I complain about being alone, but things like that will happen in time. And not just for me... God, Dave, when you get to New York, guys will fall all over you, I know it. You'll find someone, even if things are a little more complicated for you..."

"Seriously, Kurt, I understand." Dave's face was haggard, as if he'd aged a decade in the past few seconds. "You're right, though; I was an idiot for thinking we could be... more than friends."

"I didn't say—"

"You didn't have to. I mean, what was I thinking? Everything between us... Like you said, it's... _I'm_ too complicated. You deserve better. You... you deserve someone who can't accidentally kill you in his sleep. You deserve someone you chose to be with, not someone you were basically forced to be friends with just because you were in the wrong place at the wrong time. You deserve someone you don't already play teacher and therapist and confessor for. You deserve to not have to be someone's only lifeline for once. You deserve someone you don't only feel pity for. You deserve someone who feels good about himself, so you don't have to prop him up all the time. You deserve someone who doesn't constantly remind you that the world's a fucked up place with powers you never used to think existed. You deserve not having one more reason to think you'll be stuck with me forever." David pushed himself away from the table and rose. The worst part of all of it (and it had a _lot_ of competition) was that the recitation was flat, almost monotone. Not a single syllable rose in pitch or from normal volume.

Dave wasn't upset, or angry. He was more... resigned. _Long_ resigned.

"I—"

"I'm sorry for putting you on the spot like that. I should've just kept everything to myself. It would've been better. I really hope I didn't ruin our friendship. I'll leave you alone now."

"Dave, wait—!"

Dave rounded on him, and Kurt nearly physically recoiled. It was his eyes: blazing with barely suppressed emotion, sparkling with the overhead lights reflecting off the brimming moisture. "Please, Kurt. I need to... Just... don't." He turned and almost ran out the door.

Kurt had the presence of mind to follow, but the doors, for _some_ reason, remained stubbornly stuck closed. It was only when Dave's car pulled out of the lot that they finally opened. He stood there, his breath misting in the cold winter air, watching the car's taillights vanish down the street.

So many memories were battering him; how had he missed all of it? And Dave's audition song, how the hell had everything not been clear from that?! Two lines in particular jeered at him, echoing in his head as he stared off into the space where Dave's car had gone:

_Now that the world isn't ending, it's love that I'm sending to you..._  
 _It isn't the love of a hero, that's why I fear it won't do..._

* * *

**Counsel**

"... And I've tried to talk to him, but it's like he can barely stand to look at me, much less talk. I tried calling and texting, but he won't answer, and I just don't know what to do..." It was frankly hell trying to express enough of his emotions to Ms. Pillsbury while dancing around both Dave's identity and the whole telekinesis thing, but he somehow got through the whole sorry story with only a few stumbles. He didn't know what to expect from her (though to her credit she'd kept her promise not to push Kurt to fob Dave off on the other nonexistent resources for teens with psychic powers), but if anyone could help, it'd be her.

(It was a funny thought, given his rather low opinion of her skills as a counselor, but it turned out that she was actually pretty competent when Mr. Schue wasn't involved. Physician, heal thyself indeed.)

He'd actually given the matter a lot of thought himself, naturally, and he came to a few conclusions.

First of all, he'd been compartmentalizing when it came to Dave — severely. Dave wasn't right about everything he said — not even most things. But he was right about enough to make it painful. One of the main ones was that their relationship was complicated, to say the least. Kurt decided that on some level, in an effort to reduce those complications, he must have compartmentalized Dave into two small, simple boxes: student and friend. Everything that didn't fit into those boxes, he ignored, the mental and emotional equivalent of covering his ears with his hands and singing "la la la" as loud as he could.

Either that, or he was just that dense, which he was trying very hard not to believe.

Second, he was never the best at reading signals. If he was, he would've figured out that Finn wouldn't return his affections pretty quickly. He would've realized that the kiss in the locker room wasn't (or wasn't just) a cry for help. Was it because he had never felt... wanted before? Rather pathetic, if so.

Third, while "I love you, but I'm not in love with you" was still trite and dismissive, in this case... It kind of hit the mark. He loved Dave — loved a lot about him: his strength (that he'd once turned towards others because of his fear), his kindness (which he hid so he wouldn't appear weak), his intelligence (ditto)... Just not in the way Dave seemed to love him. Like Dave said, they were complicated; Kurt just couldn't see getting over those complications the way things were.

Thus his visit to Ms. Pillsbury. Thus the words upon words that almost dissolved into tears at least twice. She listened carefully and attentively. And when the words finally ran out, and Kurt admitted his helplessness, she finally spoke.

"You know... One of the roughest parts of life — teenagers especially not an exception — is figuring out love. Movies and TV tell us, you're supposed to fall in love in high school, meet your soulmate. You're supposed to be with him forever and ever and everything will be perfect until the end of time, and if that doesn't happen... you're broken, or you've missed out. But love isn't really like that, not for everyone. It's rarely perfect, and high school love so rarely works out." Kurt wondered then if she had someone in particular in mind — the slight note of distance in her voice suggested it. Wasn't Mrs. Schuester — the former Mrs. Schuester — her ex-husband's high school sweetheart? "One of the lessons we have to learn is that love can be a lot of things. It doesn't have to mean sexual attraction, romance, marriage... Love is a deep and complex feeling, and just because it isn't romantic doesn't mean it's any less real or any less deep. And you certainly don't have to feel guilty if you can't return your friend's feelings."

"But I like what we have... had. What if he doesn't want to be around me anymore?"

"That's up to him," Ms. Pillsbury said gently. "If it's too painful to be around someone he knows doesn't return his feelings... That's something he'll have to figure out for himself. But if he cares about you as much as he says he does, I doubt he'll leave you hanging for long. He'll come to you eventually, whatever he chooses. You just need to give him space to think about how he feels." She paused. "You should do the same. Can you carry on with him knowing what you know? Will you be walking on eggshells every time you interact with him? If you think it's time to let go..."

 _No_. Kurt knew what she was thinking, and she still didn't understand. On the other hand, if his presence would just hurt Dave... If it would keep him from being able to control his power...

No, if it would hurt Dave, period, ignore the goddamn telekinesis for once. Whatever was best for Dave, whatever he wanted... That's what would happen. Even if it did mean losing one of the best friends he'd ever had.

Even if it meant waiting for the day Dave Karofsky would disappear, by his own hand or someone else's, and know that he could've stopped it... if he'd just been there.

* * *

**Reconnecting**

Their next lesson was scheduled for that Saturday. Kurt was at the barn half an hour before their scheduled start time. He had heard nothing from Dave since Tuesday — had no idea if Dave would show up at all. But he was there, and he waited.

The barn, while drafty and chilly, at least offered some protection against the winter wind and precipitation, so it was a much better winter training spot than the woods. It had, after all, been built to shelter animals in weather like this. Kurt slid out his folding chair, sat, and waited.

He looked down at his phone; still twenty minutes to go. He at least had bars here; he tried to lose himself in a YouTube video, but it was a shallow distraction.

He waited.

He leaned back against the chair and listened to the creaking of the boards all around him. He remembered Dave ripping a metal strip from the crushed truck and twisting it in some knot he'd learned as a Cub Scout. It was crude, but actually kind of impressive.

He waited.

It was almost two minutes past their scheduled time, but it wasn't like Dave was the most punctual person in the world. Discipline, he'd told Dave over and over — discipline was key, and a big part of it was being on time when you promised. But the man just wouldn't listen.

He waited.

It was almost twelve minutes past — Kurt had already decided he'd wait longer ( _however long it took_ ) when the barn door opened, the chilled metal hinges whining in protest. Kurt jumped to his feet. A bundled form trudged silently in, closing the door behind it. The form pushed up the brim of its knit cap and yanked the scarf from over his mouth.

"Hey," Dave said.

"Hey," Kurt replied. He watched as Dave stomped snow clinging onto the sides of his boots, clapping his mittened hands against each other. "You came."

He heard Dave suck in a breath. "Yeah, well... We agreed, didn't we? You taught me to stick to my promises."

"I did, didn't I?" He watched his words form mist in the air, dissipating with nary another sound. "Cold out today, isn't it?"

"Yeah." The two stared at each other, each waiting. "I..." He sighed.

"You should go first."

"No, you should. I... I need to hear this. Please, Kurt."

"Okay." He sat back down in his chair; Dave took his usual place atop the roof of the crushed truck. "What you said on Tuesday..."

"I'm sorry about that, I—"

"Hey! What have I told you about listening to me?"

"You're right, you're right. Sorry. Go on." Dave waved a hand.

"Okay. What you said on Tuesday... You were right about some things. But you were also wrong about a lot more."

"Yeah?"

"You were right that things between us are complicated. You were right that this is probably why I never thought of you as a possible boyfriend. You were right that you need to feel better about yourself... even though I'd point out that you're already working on that, and that it's unreasonable to expect you to change that about yourself overnight." Kurt inhaled, the cold tingling his lungs. "But that's as far as that goes. The rest... Dave, I'm a little appalled that you think I should be worried to be around you, or that I just pity you, or that I'm being forced somehow to associate with you. I knew about you when you couldn't control the power, when you were so afraid of it that you didn't even want to acknowledge it. Would you have blamed me if I'd just tried to forget what happened?"

"Of course not. I told you that from the beginning."

"Yet you still felt like I was being forced to be your friend."

"Well... yeah. 'Cause you're... you're a good person. I've seen you go out of your way to help people, like when you Slushied yourself in front of Finn that one time sophomore year. I saw that. I just thought..."

Kurt crossed his arms. "You just thought you were a pity project to me. You thought that I had an overdeveloped sense of duty that wouldn't let me drop someone I should've dropped a long time ago."

"Exactly."

"Oh, Dave, Dave, Dave... Did you ever stop to consider the fact that even if I did feel obligated to keep training you because of your secret, that didn't mean I was obligated to be your friend? That being your friend would just make things even more dangerous for me?" There was no answer from the slumped figure on the truck. Kurt wasn't sure if that was good or bad. "I could've kept you at arms length. I could've been all business. I didn't have to encourage you to join New Directions..."

"'Encourage'? More like 'conspire'."

Humor, no matter how forced or weak: that _had_ to be good, right? "Semantics. My point is, even if I do feel some duty towards you, it doesn't nearly begin to cover everything."

"I thought you had me join glee because you didn't want me to be isolated."

"There were ways to accomplish that and not have you around me. You're my student because I needed to be. You're my friend because you just... became one, naturally, just by you being you. When I realized that, I kept it up because I found I liked it. Liked you." Kurt sighed. "I guess what I'm trying to say is, you deserve love, Dave. You're completely worthy of it, and I'm sorry I can't be the one to give it to you. I don't want to lose you as a friend, but if it hurts too much... I understand. We'll figure out another way. But I won't let you go it alone, even if it can't be me that does it."

Only the sounds of winter reached Kurt's ears. He couldn't even hear Dave breathing... or himself, for that matter. He wanted to settle in to wait, for Dave to sort out what he was feeling, but the tension wouldn't leave him, no matter how hard he tried. When Dave finally spoke, he had to suppress his startle reflex.

"Yeah," he said in a low voice, "it hurts, to think about how much I love you and how you don't feel the same way about me. And I'm sure it'll hurt a fucking ton more when you start dating some hot Broadway actor. But you know what would hurt even more than that, a hundred times worse? Not having you in my life at all. I was just... I was afraid that you wouldn't want to keep being friends with me, knowing what you know now. I swear to God, Kurt, I'll deal with this."

"I guess that's one reason I feel I need to apologize... I think on some level, I saw what was happening, and wanted to leave you to deal with this on your own."

"And that's exactly what you should've done. My feelings have nothing to do with you. I'm kind of surprised Ms. Pillsbury hasn't told you this by now." She had, but Kurt didn't have time to say that before Dave continued. "You don't have to worry about leading me on or anything, Kurt. You told me how you felt, and that's enough for me. I won't expect anything more from you; you can't possibly do or say anything to hurt me or make me uncomfortable. But if I ever do anything to make you uncomfortable... I'd never forgive myself. I just want you to be happy, Kurt, even if it's not with me... You deserve that, for everything you've done for me, and I really hope we can still be friends..."

Kurt rose, sighing. "Were you really listening to me, Dave? Did I not make it clear that that's what I wanted too? One thing I've learned lately is that I've had a lot more choice when it comes to you than I've thought." He was now standing in front of Dave; he was still slumped, sitting atop the crushed truck, his head bowed. "And now I choose to be friends with you." He held out a hand. "How about it?"

Then he found himself buried in a tight embrace. "Thank you so much," Dave's voice hissed in his ear. "I know I say that a lot, but I can never say that enough."

Kurt raised his arms and returned the hug, patting Dave's back. "You deserved it. You still do. If I had to make a choice, you made it easier for me."

That wasn't the end of the awkwardness — not by a long shot, and they both knew it. But it was the beginning of the end, and that was enough for the time being.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a little behind on my posting of this story here, so I'm catching up a bit now.
> 
> Certain themes from "On My Way" are present here. Tread lightly if this has the potential of upsetting you.

**At Ease**

Of course, having no awkwardness between Kurt and Dave was easier said than done. Kurt had more than a few times in the days after Valentine's Day where he instinctively flinched from making some kind of contact or remark that he would've done without a thought before the truth came out. He had little doubt that Dave was having similar experiences.

But for once, telekinesis was almost a refuge, a common bond of sorts in which they could occasionally bury themselves without having to think of inconvenient emotions. The breaks allowed the wound of Valentine's Day to scab over, allowed them to fall back into the old ease of routine. It wasn't until Kurt found himself and Dave laughing over something Puck had said during the last glee club rehearsal that he realized that they were well on their way to being the friends they were again.

Once that was out of the way (or at least enough out of the way that Kurt felt comfortable in putting the issue on the back burner), he was able to turn to his next challenge: Rachel.

She was headed for New York one way or another — of that he was certain. He was headed for New York one way or another. Dave was headed for New York to follow Kurt. That meant that Kurt's worlds would have to collide. That meant that Kurt would need to get Rachel used to the idea of Dave, preferably sooner rather than later.

It should've been easy, with Dave being a member of New Directions, but that was only a bare first step. Rachel had been treating him like everyone else — that is, as a backup singer. However, Dave had the further limitation of not being someone Rachel personally liked or got along with — quite the opposite, in fact. And despite her... driven qualities, she wasn't stupid; she would see through direct attempts at manipulation in a heartbeat. So Kurt had to be slow, and he had to be subtle.

Fortunately, he had a weapon that Rachel couldn't anticipate or guard against: Finn. While Kurt had... opinions about the whole engagement matter, it proved to be extremely useful for his Berry-related plans. Once more, it took a few subtle pokes and prods ("You know, Rachel seems a little cool towards Dave lately. If she's going to be your wife, she should get along with your friends, don't you think?"), but he was pretty sure that Finn was helping with Rachel. Of course, he could only be "pretty sure"; there was no way to know for certain that Finn was doing anything at all, let alone anything useful. The boy was _not_ subtle.

It was undeniable, though, that _something_ was happening — Rachel was actually starting to talk to Dave on her own initiative about matters that did not involve making sure that his harmonies meshed well with her solos. She asked him about his opinions on song choices, what he was planning with his weekends, whether he was having any more problems with his old football teammates. For his part, Dave's disbelieving stares before answering her questions grew shorter and shorter. It still wasn't smooth or natural by any means, but it was progress nonetheless.

When the key moment finally came, Kurt counted himself as very fortunate he was able to witness it. It was a complete coincidence — he had forgotten his French textbook in his locker, and was retrieving it when he spotted Dave marching down the hall on Bully Whips patrol.

As promised, the entire glee club pitched in to the new improved Bully Whips. The jackets remained, but the berets were replaced with a law enforcement-style badge hung around the neck. It didn't exactly inspire the awe that the Bully Whips had hoped, but it at least reduced the mockery, which was key for both them and their clients. Sam and Puck were especially proud of their new roles, escorting nerdy freshmen and nervous sophomores with puffed out chests. The girls were more behind-the-scenes workers, but it certainly appeared that the number of vicious rumors and hazing rituals amongst the women of McKinley had reduced significantly. The atmosphere had definitely changed — the cringing and scurrying that used to accompany the sight of the popular kids and athletes had noticeably diminished. With the Bully Whips on patrol, and the Slushie machine still broken, as Dave predicted, there was, simply put, less fear.

Thus Dave already had his attention, although Dave hadn't yet spotted Kurt. Kurt was about to call out when Rachel stepped out in front of the ex-right guard seemingly out of nowhere.

"Hello, David," she said.

Dave blinked. "Uh... Hi."

"You've been doing an excellent job in your Bully Whips duties," Rachel continued casually, much more casually than her obviously deliberate stopping of Dave warranted.

"Thanks...?"

"You're welcome. I must confess that I had my doubts, but you truly seem to have turned over a new leaf. I'm impressed."

"Well... thank you. That means a lot coming from you." And Kurt had little doubt that Dave meant it, his recognition of the sincerity in Dave's voice notwithstanding. How many times had Dave expressed a desire in private to really make it up to those he'd bullied besides Kurt? But then, how many times had Kurt replied, "How long do you plan to spend making up for the past?" Dave never had an answer, which was disturbing.

"You've also been a solid contributor to New Directions..." Kurt heard himself interpret that as "solid contributor to backing up my vocals." "... and I've been very impressed at that too."

Kurt, however, wasn't. The potential he'd displayed preparing for the halftime show last year was evident to anyone who cared to notice (which was probably why Rachel didn't — the real surprise was that Mr. Schuester actually seemed to pick up on it). Dave's parents were apparently also surprised; he'd told Kurt about how his father complimented his moves (even as he made a wince-worthy comment in private that connected said skill to his son's homosexuality; the man was apparently still learning) and his mother asked why, with that voice, he'd never sung in the church choir. Not that any of them mattered; Dave was having a good time, which was the only thing that counted. How long had he suppressed that side of himself, _along_ with his sexuality and his power? Sometimes Kurt was amazed at Dave's inner strength, strength he rarely seemed to acknowledge — Kurt was sure he would've cracked like an egg before he was 15 under the kind of pressure Dave had to deal with.

He was so lost in his own musings that he almost didn't hear Rachel continue. "As such, I think it's time I opened up."

"Opened... up?"

"Yes. Finn considers you a close friend, and since we're engaged to be married, it behooves me to get to know the people my future husband likes." Dave raised both eyebrows; though Rachel's back was to Kurt, he could just imagine her lips pursed in a self-satisfied smile. "Besides... I want to thank you."

"Thank...?" Dave choked. "For what?"

"Because... I think you're good for Finn. You see, ever since I found out about you two being friends, I've been... observing you, in a way I never did before, because, frankly, I never thought you were worth the effort." Kurt heard his heart pounding in his ears as Rachel smoothed her skirt. Dave was staring down at her with an almost dangerously blank expression. "And I've come to a conclusion."

"Yeah?" Dave licked his lips.

"It always bothered me that you and Kurt seemed to get along so well, all things considered. I don't think the others were ever perceptive enough to notice how much he defended you in his own way, and how hard he was pushing to get you into New Directions, but I did." Her voice softened, enough that Kurt could barely hear it over the chatter in the halls. "I think you and Kurt have a lot in common, don't you?"

"I..." Dave's Adam's apple bobbed. "What the hell am I supposed to say to that, Rachel?"

"Nothing. I _am_ aware that we're having this little tete a tete in public, after all. But if I am right — and your reaction tells me that I am — then that's why I'm thanking you. I'd been worried." Kurt wondered if Dave's puzzled look mirrored the one he undoubtedly had. "You know that I have two dads, right?"

"How could I not?" Dave rumbled.

"They've met Finn before, but he'll have to deal with them as a son-in-law soon, and that's... different. I love Finn, but he has never been the most... understanding man when it comes to homosexuality. Not that that's his fault...!" Rachel hastened to add. "He's merely a product of the society and environment that raised him. But... the one thing I want most is for my dads to love him like I do. And I think, from the subtle changes I've seen in Finn, that you've made it easier."

Dave was examining the floor, rubbing his right forearm. The shadows made it hard to tell, but Kurt had a feeling that his face was as red as his Bully Whips jacket. "That was for me and Kurt," he said in a low voice. "Not for you. And he was the one who asked me."

"Well, that's to Finn's increasing credit, then. He's grown up." She paused. "And I hardly think he's the only one."

The words had so many possible meanings that Kurt didn't even bother to attempt it. Neither, it seemed, did Dave; he merely nodded.

"We should chat sometime," Rachel continued. "Maybe after a rehearsal or some weekend."

As Dave told Kurt later, he wasn't exactly sure how to respond, but she was right that he and Finn were becoming pretty tight, and that it might "behoove" him to get to know his friend's future wife as well. "Yeah. Sure."

"Splendid!" Rachel said brightly. "We can discuss a time and place later, or I'll text you sometime. Oh, don't worry about your number, I'll get it from Finn. Until then, David." She flounced off, skirt twirling as she went; Dave stared after her, jaw dropped.

"There was another reason I agreed," Dave said to Kurt that afternoon.

"Oh?"

"I was kinda worried that if she kept watching me, she'd find out about... the other thing."

Kurt tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Maybe, maybe not. As you've probably figured out by now, Rachel is very good at seeing what she wants to see. And I doubt telekinesis fits into her worldview."

"You may be right."

"I think so." Kurt considered. "She's right, you know. About the effect you've had on Finn. I live with the man, so I know firsthand. You did good. You both have."

Dave didn't answer. Kurt wasn't sure if it was because he'd stepped over some kind of line, or because Dave wanted to save face by not letting himself get overly emotional. Still, every word Kurt said was true, and he'd take any opportunity to bolster that self-esteem issue of Dave's.

He didn't know it then, but he might have saved Dave's life.

* * *

**On the Edge**

_i really need to talk to you bad barn please_

The message was typical Dave: terse and lacking in capital letters and punctuation. But it chilled Kurt to his innards. For one thing, for Dave to request meeting in the barn despite their not having any training scheduled meant that what he had to say wasn't for other ears. For another, the simple words carried with them a force of emotion that Kurt tried to imagine good reasons for. He utterly failed.

Kurt made excuses with Finn as best he could and broke the speed limit all the way to the barn. Dave's car was already there; Kurt jumped out and ran the rest of the way, his lungs aching by the time he threw the doors open. "Dave?" he gasped.

Dave was sitting on the crushed truck, his head buried in his hands. Kurt carefully shut the barn door and made his way towards his friend. Even if there wasn't lingering awkwardness over Valentine's Day, he still would've been careful about touch, especially at a moment like this, when he knew so little about what was going on. So he suppressed his urge to rush to Dave's side, carefully stepping forward while making enough noise to get his attention if the door and his name hadn't done the job.

"Dave?" Kurt repeated. "I came as soon as I could."

There was still no answer. Kurt retrieved his chair from its place leaning against one of the posts, unfolded it at Dave's feet, and sat. He waited patiently, although his fingers danced against his forearm.

When Dave finally said something, it was with a voice choked with swallowed tears. "My mom's gone."

"Gone...?"

"She left. She left us. She left my dad."

Oh, this was as bad as Kurt had feared. "What happened?"

"St. Luke's was throwing another fundraiser for Father Mitchell's straight camp. Only this time they were also having a petition drive. You can probably guess what that was all about." Kurt nodded, even if Dave couldn't see it; God knew he'd seen too many such political efforts in small town Ohio. "Mom wanted Dad to help her, and that started... this huge argument. Dad kept trying to tell her how wrong it was, what she and Father Mitchell were doing, and Mom was yelling about morals and God and why was he getting so upset, he'd never said those kinds of things about Father Mitchell before, and..." He stopped, cold. He didn't trail off — he just stopped.

Kurt wanted to prompt him to go on, but even he could tell it wouldn't be a good time. So he just waited.

It took a full five minutes, but Dave finally continued. "He outed me," he whispered.

"Who?" Kurt swallowed. "Your dad?"

"He didn't mean it," Dave said in the same raspy whisper. "He was just so mad, and he yelled something about how Mom was hurting 'people like David,' and she asked him what he meant by that..." He raised his head; his face was blotchy, his eyes bloodshot. "Shit really blew up then. She accused him of lying to her and deceiving her. She hugged me and told me she was going to help me 'get better', and Dad... God, I'd never seen him so mad in my life, not even when I was talking back to him. I think he would've thrown Mom out if she hadn't left first. She said she was going to talk to Father Mitchell and get a lawyer and make sure I 'got the help I needed'..." Kurt wasn't sure when Dave's tears had started, but they were welling from his eyes by this time. "I broke up my family..."

"No, Dave, you didn't..."

"You don't understand! My parents met in college. They've been together over twenty five years. If you ever saw them, they like kiss and touch and tease each other all the time... I know my dad still loves my mom, and he pretty much threw her out because of me..."

All right, _now_ was the time. Kurt gently placed a hand over one of Dave's. The way things were, he knew there would be nothing about the gesture that could even remotely send a wrong message, and God knew Dave needed it right now. "Normally, I wouldn't dignify such nonsense with a response, but you have to hear this: this isn't your fault. You didn't choose to be gay, but when it comes to how people react to others, they always have a choice. Always. Your dad knows the real you now. He chose you because he loves you. Your mother chose to ignore the real you. She chose to try to fix you and walk out. She is wrong. He is right. They made their choices, and despite how you may think, it has nothing to do with you and everything to do with them." Dave didn't respond; instead his head just bowed again. "There's something else?"

Dave nodded. "I just couldn't take being in that house anymore. Dad kept apologizing, and I told him it was okay, even though I wasn't sure it was, and I just... left. I came here. But on the way... I kept thinking... Maybe if I just... had an accident..."

Kurt felt himself pale. "Oh god..."

"Then everything would be fixed. My mom wouldn't have any reason not to come home, and maybe they'd get closer because they'd be grieving. I wouldn't have to worry about my power or never finding a boyfriend and the fear I live with every fucking minute of every fucking day would finally _stop_..."

Fear. Cold, hard fear like he was digesting a boulder. He hadn't felt it in a long time, but it was like an old unwelcome relative coming to visit for the holidays after a long absence. "D-Dave..."

"Don't worry, Kurt... God, I know that sounds stupid, 'don't worry', but you shouldn't. Obviously I didn't do it. Every time I thought about just turning the wheel towards a tree, I thought about Dad, and Finn, and you, and the rest of the glee club... You guys took my empty life and filled it with so much good that I couldn't stand the thought of making you all sad." Dave looked up with a small smile that trembled with the effort it took to keep itself alive. "You saved my life again, Kurt. Not just you, your friends too."

"Now no talk about repayment," Kurt said, exhaling in relief. Dave still felt precarious, but he at least believed that he was out of the worst of it. If he wasn't, he wouldn't have summoned Kurt to begin with... he hoped. "You're okay; that's all that matters." Dave sniffled; Kurt automatically reached into his pocket and pulled out a tissue. Dave snatched it up and blew his nose. "What do you want to do?"

"Could you just... stay with me for a while? I just... I need to clear my head."

"Of course." Kurt sat back down and waited, watching Dave stare off into space. He didn't check his phone (in fact ignoring at least one incoming text alert) or even move his gaze. He just watched Dave slowly, literally settle — his rock hard shoulders lowered, the furrows in his forehead smoothed. It took at least an hour, maybe longer; Kurt didn't remember what time he'd arrived.

Dave slid off the truck roof. "I should... I should go... home. I told my dad I was okay, but... that was kind of a lie, and he probably knows it. He's probably worried about me."

"Do you want me to come with you?"

Dave nodded. "Yeah. Please."

They left in Kurt's car — they had no idea when they'd return for Dave's, but if Dave hadn't asked to ride with Kurt, Kurt would've insisted. The drive was silent, except for the radio, which Kurt tuned to the most mindless pop station he knew. He wasn't sure what advice he could give to Dave at this point, especially not in the emotional state they were both in. He began singing along to Kelly Clarkson, almost involuntarily. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dave's mouth quirk in amusement, and his low baritone actually joined in for a few bars.

That gave Kurt more hope than any of Dave's reassurances.

As they pulled up to the Karofsky house, Kurt noted the garage door was open, and how empty it looked with only a single car in it. Dave shook. The instant Kurt turned off the ignition, the front door flew open. He'd met Paul Karofsky after Sectionals — a broad shouldered, greying man built much like his son. He'd struck Kurt as rather low key and conciliatory, especially with Dave's descriptions of his home life; he frankly couldn't imagine that man having a shouting match with his beloved wife.

The elder Karofsky skipped half the porch steps running to the driveway. By the time Dave was halfway out of the car, he was there, grabbing up his son in a tight hug. Kurt got out, leaning over the car roof, watching Dave grab onto his father like a barnacle, his shoulders shaking with unheard words, or perhaps sobs.

Diva and dad locked eyes over Dave; the other man mouthed "thank you." Kurt nodded in reply. The two finally separated only after long minutes, Paul giving Dave a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder. "I'm so sorry, David. I didn't mean— I shouldn't have—"

Dave shook his head. "It's okay, Dad. It would've happened sooner or later anyway. Have you... heard from Mom?"

Paul's mouth opened, but no sound came out. Kurt wondered if he was shocked that Dave asked about his mother — his bitch of a homophobic religious zealot mother, as far as Kurt was concerned — so quickly, let alone at all. He certainly was. "... Not yet. She probably needs time to work through this." His hand on Dave's shoulder visibly tightened. "We all do."

"Yeah."

"Why don't we go inside?" He nodded towards Kurt. "Sorry, Kurt, but I think David and I need to be alone for a while. Talk some things out."

"Of course."

"I'll call you tomorrow, Kurt," Dave said. "Promise." Kurt didn't drive away, or even get into the car, until both Karofsky men had disappeared into the house. Even then, he stood there, heedless of the chill wind sweeping through the neighborhood, for long minutes until he finally allowed himself to leave.

* * *

**On My Way**

The group that burst through the doors of Lima Memorial Hospital were a motley group, even (or maybe especially) in their semi-formal attire, a mix of teenagers and adults, heights and races. The youngest woman of the bunch ran up to the nurse's station; the middle-aged woman sitting there raised a curious eyebrow.

"Quinn Fabray!" the young woman burst out.

The nurse pointed down the left hand hall. "Room 311. Please keep the noise down for our other patients."

Rachel nodded absently and ran down the indicated hall, the rest of the group following. When she entered the doors of room 311, most of the rest of New Directions was already there, thanks to the power of mobile texting and social media.

Quinn was lying on the hospital bed, ugly purple bruises staining her beautiful face and forehead. Her left arm and leg were already in casts, and honestly, Kurt thought, she looked more pained than in pain.

"Oh, thank God!" Rachel wrapped her arms around Quinn; everyone else winced at the wince the Cheerio gave at the sudden embrace. "I'm so sorry—!"

"It's my fault," Quinn said, awkwardly patting Rachel on the back. "I shouldn't have been texting in the first place."

"You can say that again!" Judy Fabray barked, wiping her reddened eyes. "Do you know how much more badly you could've been hurt? You scared me half to death!"

"I'm sorry, Mom. But I think I've learned my lesson now," she said, wryly looking down at her plaster-enrobed arm and leg.

As the others gathered around the bed, giving reassurances and asking questions, Kurt silently slipped out. He returned to the nurse's station, where the nurse was already bracing herself. "Excuse me," he said quietly and politely, "could you tell me where David Karofsky is?"

Nodding approvingly, she glanced at a chart. "Room 333," she replied, pointing down the right hand hall.

"Thank you." He strode down the hall and entered the open door to 333. Dave was sitting on one of the beds, still in street clothes. A doctor was shining a light into one of his eyes.

"Hmm," he said with a faint Indian accent, "you seem to be fine. All tests came back negative. You don't feel faint?"

"No."

"Then I don't see any reason you have to stay here any longer. Go see your friend. You sure you don't want us to call your father?"

Dave shook his head. "No. My friend's gonna take me home." He nodded towards Kurt; the doctor turned, as if startled that he was there.

"Ah. Well, then, call if you feel any dizziness or nausea." The doctor strode hurriedly out of the room, doubtlessly to meet patients that needed his attention more. Kurt brushed past him as he approached the bed.

"Hey."

"Hey."

"You okay?"

"Yeah. How's Quinn?"

"I just saw her. She's pretty banged up, but she's alive, and whole." Kurt sat in a chair next to the bed. "Want to tell me what happened?"

Dave's shoulders heaved in a sigh. "It was one of those weird coincidences. I was stopped at a light near downtown, and my car battery died. I managed to shove it to the side of the road — with my arms," he said with a pointed look at Kurt. He nodded approvingly, and Dave continued. "Like a moron, I forgot to charge my phone, so it was out of juice."

Kurt nodded; that explained why it had been the hospital to contact him. He wasn't surprised that he was one of Dave's emergency contacts, but he wasn't sure how to feel that he'd been called and not, apparently, Dave's father. Perhaps that would be explained by why Dave was here to begin with...

"So I started walking. I got a couple of blocks when I saw Quinn's car coming down the road. I was about to wave her down so she could give me a ride when I realized she wasn't slowing down for the stop sign. Then I saw the truck..."

Dave's eyes were unfocused, as if he could see that truck, right at that moment. Kurt could see it too: in his mind's eye, it was black, massive, almost more like an SUV. The driver was elderly, his eyes cloudy with cataracts, completely unheeding as his vehicle hurtled into the intersection, dwarfing Quinn's car...

"It was instinct," Dave continued. "I..." He gulped down his next words, glancing over Kurt's shoulder. Kurt turned; the hallway outside the open door was empty, but still... Kurt rose, shut the door, and returned to Dave's side. Only then did he speak again. "It was instinct," he repeated. "I didn't even think about using the power; I just... did it. Maybe if I had time to think about it, I would've done better than I did. Quinn wouldn't even have gotten hurt."

"Then maybe she or the other driver would've realized something happened," Kurt suggested.

"Maybe. But either way... I think I shoved the truck to the side a little, while at the same time trying to soften the impact on Quinn's car. I remember hearing her scream, the crash, and..." Dave closed his eyes for a moment. "I blacked out."

"Why?"

"I don't know. I've never fainted before. I think maybe it was because I'd never had to use my power that quick and that strongly before. Anyway, while I was out, the ambulance got there, and one of the paramedics found me, just lying on the side of the road. They thought I might've gotten hit by some debris or something, so they brought me here to get me checked out just in case."

"And how do you feel now?"

"Fine."

"And your power?"

Dave stared across the room. A plastic cup levitated from next to a sink and lazily drifted over Kurt's head. Dave snatched it out of the air and stared harshly at it. "Still there. Still as strong as ever." The cup creaked in his grip. Dave grimaced half-seriously. "Damn. I was hoping I'd burnt it out or something."

"We're not that lucky, I don't think." Kurt sighed, his hand resting on Dave's forearm. Slowly, ever so slowly, those little gestures were becoming commonplace once more when the two were alone. Dave insisted that he knew exactly what they meant — no more and no less — and that he appreciated what they were, not what they could or didn't mean. Kurt believed him. "But you're all right."

"Yeah. Perfectly normal." He laughed, a note of hysteria creeping in. "I'm still the same gay telekinetic I was before."

"You're alive and healthy and that's all that matters. You know..." Was he actually going there? He was. "If you'd done something stupid last week, you wouldn't have been there for Quinn. She might've been even more seriously hurt... or worse."

"Oh, no, you're not gonna say _that_ again..."

"You're..."

"Kurt, I'm warning you..." Dave was failing to keep the smile off his face; now was the time to strike.

"You're a superhero."

"Gah!" He threw the empty cup at Kurt's head; both laughed. "Shut the fuck up, Hummel!"

"Seriously, Dave, how much good are you going to do with your power before you just take the label?"

"It makes me sound like—"

"Like what? A good person? You aren't going to keep fighting me on _that_ , are you?"

"Why would I do that? You always win."

"Damn straight." He gently tugged at Dave's arm. Dave slipped off the bed onto his feet. "Come on, you should come say hello to Quinn — see what happens when you use your telekinesis for good."

"Not that she'll ever know that."

"That was never the point, but you already knew that. Come on, hero." Kurt chuckled at Dave's grumbles.

As it turned out, Quinn was able to participate in Regionals, despite half her limbs still being in casts. Sebastian tried to blackmail Rachel into withdrawing from the competition, but Finn, the subject of his extortion attempt, just shrugged it off. "Whatever," he said. "So a bunch of people I either don't know or don't like anyway think I'm gay or something. Big fucking deal. And it's not like Artie can't knock the Google results down a bunch. I mean, as blackmail goes, it's kinda lame, isn't it?"

Sebastian seemed unfazed by the refusal and the lack of concern about the consequences, sneering that the Warblers would "just have to win on stage, as God intended." A bit strange, but Kurt had heard whispers about Santana and a "deep cover op" that could explain it. Not that he wanted to devote too much time or thought to the matter. He had a competition to win.

And Lord, was the look on Sebastian's face as New Directions cheered and high-fived and hugged _sweet_. As they gave the audience a huge bow, Kurt noticed the smile vanish from Dave's face. He followed his friend's gaze to the stage left seats. There he saw Paul Karofsky on his feet, applauding his son and his friends.

Mrs. Karofsky was nowhere to be seen.

By the time Kurt returned his attention to Dave, the smile was back, as if it had never been gone. Kurt took a mental note before the joy of triumph, and the embraces of his teammates, overwhelmed him once more.

* * *

**Big Brother**

Kurt felt a little guilty. Okay, he felt _very_ guilty. And maybe he was stepping over a line here. No, make that _definitely_. But almost a month had passed since Mrs. Karofsky walked out of the house she'd once shared with her family. Dave was reticent about updates, but Kurt knew that she had not yet returned, and all communication was being done through his father "for legal reasons." (Though Kurt suspected that the actual reasons had more to do with keeping Mrs. Karofsky from encouraging her son to pursue a "cure" for his homosexuality.)

Dave tried to put on a brave face, and it actually fooled New Directions most of the time. But not Kurt — even with the distraction of preparing for Nationals, he had seen too much of Dave at his worst and most vulnerable: terrified, alone, hurting. The family drama was a major blow to Dave's mood, his self-image. He was talking it over with Ms. Pillsbury (or so he said), and his father was considering taking him to a therapist, but Kurt couldn't just stand by and do nothing. Dave deserved more from his friends.

Thus Kurt's incredibly stupid idea. The worst part was that it had to start with a betrayal of trust, so he tried his best to limit the damage. He got the opportunity one afternoon when Dave was visiting Finn at their house. The two took a break from video gaming; Dave went to the bathroom while Finn went to the kitchen to nuke leftover pizza for them both. That was his chance.

Dave left his phone on the armrest of the sofa; he tended to miss calls when he was distracted and it was in his pocket, and his father had scolded him about it a time or two. (Dave's dad seemed to be getting a little... clingy, apparently still working through the guilt of his inadvertent outing. Maybe he needed to chat with another dad of a gay son, someone who could help him work through his feelings and fears...) Kurt snatched up the phone. One thumb swipe brought its screen to life. He typed in 5-8-7-8, Dave's password; he'd had inputted it enough in front of Kurt that he couldn't help but notice. His ears pricked for any sign of anyone returning, Kurt quickly found Dave's address book. From what Dave told him, there was no guarantee that the phone number Kurt wanted would even be there. But thank god, there it was.

 _Footsteps! Danger, danger!_ Memorizing the phone number as quickly as he could, Kurt turned the phone off and placed it back onto the armrest. He'd circled around the couch and back into his chair just as Dave appeared, wiping his hands on his jeans. "Pizza ready?" he shouted into the kitchen instead of just going there and asking at a normal volume.

"Almost!" Finn shouted back with the same lack of necessity. Kurt sighed and shook his head. A moment later, the microwave beeped; another moment, and Finn appeared with plates of steaming hot pizza. He slid one down the coffee table; it fortunately stopped right in front of Dave, who'd already seated himself and snatched up the remote. Finn joined him, and the game was back on. Their attention diverted, Kurt gently extricated himself and went out into the front hall. Glancing behind him to make sure they were properly engrossed, he quickly keyed the number into his own phone.

It began to ring; Kurt pressed himself into a corner, holding a hand over the receiver end. The more the line on the other end rang, the worse this whole idea was getting in his mind. He was just about to hang up and forget about the whole thing when someone picked up.

"Hello?"

Kurt's throat locked.

"Hello?" the voice repeated impatiently. "Who is this?"

"Jack?" He lowered his voice, lest it somehow be heard over the shouts and reports in the other room.

"Yeah, it's Jack... Who is this? Monica, is that you?"

Kurt frowned in annoyance. "No, I'm... I'm sorry to call you like this, but my name is Kurt Hummel. I'm a friend of David's."

There was a silence on the other end. Finally: "O... Okay... How did you get this number?"

"From David." He hoped that was vague enough. "I just wanted to talk to you about him."

"What about him?" Jack's voice was neutral enough; he hoped, prayed, that this was a good sign.

"You know what happened last month."

Another silence. "Yeah."

"Dave... Dave's going through some hard times right now. He really needs every friend he can get. And he has a lot more of them now, but in my experience, nothing is closer than family." Kurt steeled himself. "He really needs his brother, Jack."

The longest silence yet followed. Kurt couldn't even hear breathing on the other end. He was beginning to wonder if they'd been cut off, or Jack had hung up; the answering voice almost startled him. "This is none of your business."

"Dave's a friend. I care about him deeply. I know I'm nudging into family business, but frankly, my first concern is his well-being. Honestly, I didn't think it would be this difficult."

"There's a lot you don't know or understand..."

"Oh, I think I know and understand a lot more than you think!" Kurt actually gasped at his own words. It had just... slipped out. _It's okay_ , he thought. _If he doesn't know about Dave's telekinesis, it won't mean much to him. But if he does..._ He couldn't even begin to complete that sentence.

This time, Kurt could hear breathing on the other end, hard and labored. It took a few seconds to quiet. "You... you said you were a friend of Dave's?" The voice had lost all its harshness, becoming almost tentative.

"Yes."

"A good friend?"

"I like to think so..."

"So..." There was an audible gulp. "How much do you know about... the time I was in the hospital when I was eighteen?"

"I..." Kurt's impulse was to be circumspect, but Jack _had_ to be asking for a reason... "Dave told me everything about it."

"S-seriously?"

"Yes. I know all about it." Kurt injected as much _meaning_ as he could into the words. If he was wrong, it would fly right over Jack's head. But if he was right...

When Jack's voice rose again, it was infused with... what? Tension? Shock? "You... He..." There was a rustling on the other end. "Then you know... what he can do."

"Do you?" Kurt was amazed at how calm that came out; he certainly didn't feel calm.

"I... remember what happened. I think about it all the time. I've tried to explain it in my head a thousand different ways over the years. But I know what I saw. I know what I felt. And I saw other... things before I left home. Things our parents never noticed, because they never looked for it." The hissing of breath. "But I did."

"Dave's better now." He felt as though he was riding a pogo stick across a minefield. "I've been helping him. He's really a lot better now. You don't need to be afraid of him anymore—"

"But I _am_!" Jack's voice raised to a shriek filled with an all too familiar self-loathing. "I can't... I can't deal with it! It's too big for me...!"

"I used to think that too, but we've been working together, and he—"

"That's great for you, but... I used to be an atheist. But seeing Dave, just _thinking_ about what he did... I still have fucking _nightmares_ about it! I don't know what to believe anymore..."

"He needs you, Jack," Kurt said, trying to steady his voice. "He needs his big brother. He needs someone he can talk to about this, someone he can share the burden with..."

"He has you."

"I'm not enough. It's... Honestly, it's been hard, for both of us. He..." (We...) "... need to not be alone in this..."

"I'm sorry," Jack whispered. "I can't be that for him. Or you. I just can't. I'm so so sorry... Please... Don't call me again." He hung up.

Kurt stared down at the phone in his hand. He turned towards the living room.

"Goddammit, cover me, you asshole!"

"It's not my fault! I'm pinned down over—"

"Just fucking get your ass over here or I'll tell Rachel what you said about her sweater!"

"Fuck you, man! Don't you fucking dare!"

Their laughter should've been comforting, or at least worthy of a smile. It wasn't.

Kurt's hand tightened around his phone so hard it nearly snapped in two.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More catching up.

**An Uncommon Sympathy  
**

Kurt spent a week half-hoping that every phone call he got would be Jack Karofsky, having thought things through and deciding that he was willing to overcome his fear and build a relationship with his brother.

He was disappointed, but not surprised, when it never happened.

Nationals prep slowly became a nightmare. Kurt and Rachel clashed over the smallest creative decisions, which made the "debates" over the _big_ creative decisions hell. He pushed himself and the others over dance moves until everyone, even Mike, was ready to drop. Even Mr. Schuester gave him a wide berth whenever "that batshit crazy look", as Santana put it, came over him. He could tell that the others, especially Finn and Dave, wanted to ask him what was up, but they were wise not to. There were some wounds that were too painful to prod.

It was ridiculous, really, that the phone conversation with Jack should be hurting him so. It wasn't like Jack was _his_ brother, or that he was more hurt than Dave would be if he ever found out about what happened (thus his determination that he never would). But after yelling at Finn for leaving his socks in the middle of the hall for the umpteenth time, so loud that his father had to tell him to turn it down a notch, he had to admit that there was a lot on his mind.

But who could he talk to about it? Dave? Certainly not. Finn? It'd be a little cathartic, but no. Ms. Pillsbury? Maybe, but how to even begin to tell her what was bothering him without speaking the dreaded "T" word?

As it turned out, his refuge came in the last person he expected.

It was still early, but Kurt was ensconced in the choir room, getting some homework done before rehearsal. He tapped his pencil rapidly on his chin as he considered a knotty math problem (the kind Dave could probably do in his sleep) when the door opened. He considered looking up to greet whoever it was who came in, but decided he didn't feel like bothering. He was just sinking back into the rather dizzying array of variables on the paper in front of him when the choir room door clicked shut.

The reason Kurt noticed was the speed with which it closed. Usually, it took a few seconds for the door to shut on its own; the fact that it happened so quickly meant that whoever came in deliberately closed it behind them. That meant they wanted privacy with Kurt. That meant...

"No," he said without even looking up.

"I didn't even say anything." Kurt's head snapped up, and oh God, did it have to be _him_?

He and Joe Hart weren't friends, but he did tolerate Mr. Dreads for Jesus. He was a good enough singer, and he knew when to stay out of peoples' way, which was a big plus in a room as infused with drama as this one. Too bad he had to let go of that instinct now.

"I know what you're thinking," Joe said. _So why aren't you going away?_ Kurt thought. "But I promise, as God is my witness, that I won't preach to you or try to drag you to church or anything. I just want to listen."

"Why?"

Joe shrugged. "Because you obviously need it. Because since you're not talking to your friends, there's obviously stuff you don't feel comfortable telling them, and maybe it'd be easier with someone you don't know so well. Because it's what I think my faith and my God would want me to do, even if you don't share either." He sat next to Kurt. "We've got a few minutes before the others usually arrive. If you feel like it... Go ahead."

Kurt wanted to go back to his math. He wanted to leave Joe hanging for those few minutes it would take for the room to start filling up. Instead, almost against his will, he put down his homework and turned to Joe. "What the hell is the problem with people?"

Joe chuckled. "That's the kind of question people have turned to religion for since the caveman days, I think."

"You may be right about that. But your _religion_ has already hurt D— people. I've seen it myself."

"I never said Christians were perfect," Joe said. "If they were, they wouldn't need Christianity."

Kurt snorted. "Whatever. It's just... I'm tired of people hurting others. And it's not just the direct stuff, either: it's the neglect, it's the apathy... It's the refusal to believe that other people _matter_. I'm sick of being attacked with the Bible. Why can't you just leave us alone?"

"What have I done?" Joe asked quietly.

"Not you as in _you_ , but you as in... Oh, you know what I mean." Kurt shook his head. "Whatever. This was a mistake..."

"Look, I'm sorry. I understand, seriously. I'm pretty sick myself of people who twist the very basic lessons of the Bible because they're lazy or selfish. And I know that doesn't mean a lot to you, but my faith does mean a lot to me, and it _does_ hurt me to see it used as a weapon... Or when people who know better let others do it." Kurt didn't answer. "I guess I keep going by trying my best to make up for all that — make the world a better place."

"How's that going for you so far?" The question was astonishingly bitter, much more so than Kurt was expecting. But Joe just shrugged.

"It's a process, not a goal. Baby steps. I can never tell when helping one person will lead to that person helping another, and that person another... That's how the world changes. I mean, isn't that what you guys are doing with the Bully Whips? It's just one high school — how important could it be, right? But maybe those who leave will take what you all are doing with them. Or else leave a legacy here." Joe shrugged again. "That's how I see it. The world sucks a lot of the time, I know that. But I figure my purpose is to make it suck a little less. Even if it's just one person, even if it's just a little... Isn't that better than doing nothing?"

Mr. Schue chose that moment to arrive. He looked a little startled to find people in the choir room already, but he merely nodded towards the two and started writing on the chalkboard. Slowly, the others started filing in, but Kurt wasn't aware of it, so lost was he in thought. When rehearsal broke up for the day, he gave Joe a nod. Joe gave one in return.

They'd never return to the subject again, but somehow Kurt felt like they didn't need to.

* * *

**Quotes By Marianne Williamson  
**

Kurt opened his eyes, already feeling refreshed. Dave wasn't the only one who was being helped by meditation; it certainly proved to be a boon for his own state of mind. Meditation fell into one of those weird gray areas for him — spiritual yet not religious, not that either particularly appealed to his mindset. Then again, that mindset had to change drastically just to accept Dave's very existence.

Regardless of Kurt's existential crises, being able to relax and focus his mind was key in keeping his sanity. He badly needed the time to reorder the clutter that built up in his brain and look inward for a while instead of letting outside forces buffet him about like a ship at sea.

They were in the barn; after Valentine's Day, they'd agreed that homes, especially bedrooms, was just a little too... intimate. Or at least uncomfortable. Besides, the less suspicion roused in the minds of parents and stepsiblings, the better. Still, settling back into old routines was reducing the awkwardness every day. Maybe sometime soon...

He looked over at Dave; his eyes were closed but fluttering, his breathing deep and steady. In contrast to his usual keyed up, nervous state, this calm and tranquility was comforting. It reminded Kurt that Dave still had the capacity to achieve some kind of peace.

Maybe they'd both find it someday.

Kurt opened his mouth to suggest breaking for the day when a soft grinding sound behind him caught his ears. He turned, and saw a rusted out gas can emerge from a pile of debris and scoot across the floor. He held his breath as the can slid towards them. Dave didn't seem to hear it move; his eyes didn't open, and his face didn't alter, as the gas can approached Dave's back. At the last moment, it changed direction, skittering in a lazy arc around the two. Kurt's eyes followed it, his throat closed. Finally, he managed to squeak out, "Uh, Dave...?"

Dave opened his eyes. "What?" The gas can didn't stop; it whizzed through Dave's field of view with comic timing that could only have been imparted by a sadistic cosmos. "Oh." It stopped dead, settling upon the floor with a hollow metallic ring. "I... I didn't mean to do that."

"I know."

"I had no idea that I even— That's... that's bad, isn't it?"

"I..." The key to relationships of any kind, Kurt had decided, was honesty. That was why he was glad he knew how Dave felt about him, no matter how painful it was for both of them — it enabled them to deal with it directly and move on, at least in a sense. Lies and half-truths only led to situations like with him and Finn sophomore year, and look at how _that_ turned out. "Yes. It's bad." Dave wilted; Kurt almost felt himself do the same. "Have you had any other... incidents lately?"

Dave shook his head. "Not that I can tell. Just... the need to use my power."

"It's still been bothering you?"

"Yeah. I'd be just sitting in class or listening to Mr. Schue, and I'd get this _urge_ to reach out with my mind and crush a desk or throw Mr. Schue out of the room..."

Kurt couldn't help but chuckle. "No, that part's completely normal. The man can be annoyingly clueless sometimes."

"Hah! Thanks, dude, I needed that. But seriously..." Kurt wished the smile on Dave's face could've stayed just a little longer. "It feels like I fight the urge every day, and it gets a little harder every time. It's like the power wants out... Like it wants to be free..."

"Okay, Dave, I'd like to talk about something you just said a little. You've talked about your power a lot like it's some kind of separate entity — almost like you're _possessed_."

Dave paused in thought. "Huh. I didn't even notice. I guess..."

"You do — I'm remembering a dozen times easy just in the last month alone. What it says about how you think about yourself and your power... I think we need to take care of that. You probably already know everything I'm about to say, but I think it's important to say it out loud." Kurt put on his most professorial face (he'd realize later that he borrowed it from a very serious photo of Carmen Tibideaux he'd found on NYADA's website during his research). "Dave, your power isn't some spirit that's inhabiting your body. It's part of you, no different than your legs or hands, and they don't do anything without your consent... I hope." The smile was back for just a second, but it was long enough to encourage Kurt to continue. " _You_ are in control of it, even if it doesn't feel like it. Think of it like being on a diet, or getting up the motivation to work out. You're not fighting a demon — you're just training yourself to do and react in ways you want."

It was a while before Dave's eyes focused. "You really think that's true?"

"Even if it's not, it's in your best interests to believe it. Confidence, Dave — it's all about confidence in life. It's as important for this as it is for performing. And I don't think I have to tell you this, but one of the great confidence-killers is fear. Don't be afraid of the power, Dave. Don't be afraid of yourself. I know it's hard, but I'd be offering the same advice even if your biggest problem was figuring out your sexuality. Close your eyes." Dave obeyed without question or hesitation; that couldn't help but give Kurt his own thrill of power. "Think about what you could do with your gift — how you could help people. Picture exactly what you'd do — maybe you could rescue people from car accidents, just like you did with Quinn. Think about what it would feel like to have it under your complete control... To be able to will anything to move just by thinking about it, and only when you want it... To be yourself, be one with your power, free of all fear..." He heard a rattling behind him; he didn't feel any desire to turn to see what it was. Besides, if this was the power leaking out again, he could forgive it under these circumstances. "How does it feel?"

An almost beatific smile spread across Dave's features. "It feels... It feels fucking _awesome_..."

"That reality is well within your grasp, Dave. You just have to believe in it, and in yourself. Whenever you feel afraid, think about this again. Think about that feeling. Think about the good you could do with your gift... The good you've _already_ done." Once upon a time, so long ago that it almost seemed like a lifetime, Dave called his power a "curse." Kurt had weaned him off that word — words have their own power, after all — so maybe now it was time to take the next step. "Your power can be anything you make of it. If you want it to be a gift, to you and to the rest of the world, if you work to make it one, it will be. We're all born with so much potential... You just have a little more than most."

"A gift..." Dave whispered. He opened his eyes; they were wet and shiny. "My power is a gift..."

Kurt didn't even hesitate to reach over and hold Dave's hand. He knew — they both knew — what it meant; the atmosphere couldn't be mistaken for anything else. "Just keep telling yourself that, Dave. Even if it's not true... It'll become true. If that's what you want."

"Fuck, yeah, it's what I want. I want me having this power to mean something. I want to be able to say that I did more good than bad in the world. I want..." He stopped.

"Yes?"

"Never mind."

Kurt didn't push. He'd only find out much, much later that Dave was about to say "I want to make you proud of me." If he had said it, Kurt would've told him the truth:

"I already am."

A single conversation couldn't change everything, of course. There was still the matter of Dave's power leakage and growing strength to deal with — not to mention all the stuff actual normal high school seniors had to worry about.

But despite that discovery, Kurt would always regard that day as a huge step forward.

* * *

**Choke**

"Dude, you've been training a telekinetic for over a year now. I think you can pretty much handle anything life throws at you now."

Dave did have a point, but Kurt's pulse refused to stop racing. "But this is my _future_..."

"So you think you _need_ NYADA to get anywhere...?"

Kurt opened his mouth to answer, then paused. "Well... No. But having NYADA would make it much easier. And frankly, I'd be proving something to myself as well as everyone else. With the _many_ solos I've gotten in New Directions, and not getting Tony in _West Side Story_ , it'd be... an ego boost."

Dave laughed. "You? Need an ego boost?"

"Shut up!" Kurt punched Dave in the arm; he didn't stop laughing, the bastard. "Why don't you make yourself useful?" His arm flashed out; an object, little more than a black blur, whizzed towards Dave. Startled, he made it stop in midair just a couple of feet from his face. It was a flash drive.

"What's this?"

"It has my possible audition songs on it. Listen to it, and tell me which one you think I should do."

Dave's face soured. "The whole thing?"

" _Yes_ , the whole thing. How are else you supposed to make an informed opinion?"

"You know, just because I'm in your glee club doesn't mean I know shit about music. Besides, isn't this thing supposed to, like, reflect who you are? Aren't you supposed to be the best judge of that?"

"Apparently not, since you keep insisting that you have something to make up for, and that you're somehow 'mediocre' as a performer and a person." Kurt shook his head, as if in amusement that such absurdities could possibly be taken seriously. "Besides, it helps to have a fresh perspective."

"You could always ask Rachel."

"Ah, yes, your best friend."

Dave guffawed. "So she thinks. But I only go along with her shit because it's too exhausting to try to fight."

"Welcome to my world. Anyway, no. She may have a keen eye for performances, but she's auditioning too, remember? NYADA is very exclusive, so we're rivals. I love her — sometimes — but no way am I going to trust this to her." Kurt crossed his arms. "So how about it?"

Dave sighed. The flash drive dropped into his waiting open hand. "Fine," he grumbled. Kurt suppressed a squeal of glee.

A week later, Dave called. "Number five. Definitely."

Kurt had to consult his list to remember which one that was — was it really _that_ hard for Dave to learn the titles? He raised his eyebrows. "Huh. Well, I did like it, but I thought number seven would be a safer choice..."

"Yeah, but you aren't 'safe.' Number five, it's... active. Out there. Kinda flamboyant. It's... you."

"Thanks, Dave," Kurt said in a near whisper. The fact that he knew for certain what Dave was saying and why marked it as the very moment he felt that their friendship was fully restored... No, even stronger than before. Somehow, he knew that Dave felt the same.

They needed that moment for the rough spots ahead. First was the rumors, filtered up from the girls of New Directions, about Coach Beiste and her husband. Dave came to Kurt one afternoon and said in a trembling voice, "I want to do something."

"About?"

"Coach's husband."

Kurt surprised himself with his calm. "What do you plan to do?"

"Make sure he never touches her again," Dave said in a very Karofsky-like growl. "Maybe if he got a taste of his own medicine dished out _my_ way, he'd leave her alone."

"Dave, don't."

"Don't tell me to do nothing, Kurt!" he snapped. "Coach... Coach is a good person. If it weren't for you, I think... She might've been the only other person I could've trusted with... with everything. I can't let her down. I can't let some fucking psycho..."

"Cooter Menkins is nothing like you."

Dave stopped short, mouth opening. "How the hell do you do that?"

"Experience. Look, Dave, you both have similar builds and have resorted to violence. That is where the similarities end. I know you mean well, and I do agree something must be done, but attacking Coach Beiste's husband won't do any good. He'll recover in the hospital and go home... And from everything I've heard right now, Coach will let him. There are other options. Unfortunately, this happens a lot more than most people think..."

"But what if they don't work?" Dave burst out.

Kurt swallowed. "You... you can't save everyone, Dave."

"No! I can't... I won't accept that! I thought... I thought no one could save _me_. But you did, Kurt! You did! If I can be saved, she can be too!"

Kurt laid a gentle hand on Dave's shoulder, feeling it shake under his touch; he wondered if he was shaking too. It certainly felt like it. "Okay... We'll talk to Ms. Pillsbury, see what we can do. Just... give peace a chance, okay? Remember, your power isn't meant to harm, even for a good cause. Okay?"

Dave sighed, his broad shoulders drooping. "Okay. Fine." When he raised his head, his eyes were hard, blazing. "But if I ever _see_ him lay a fucking _hand_ on her..."

"Then you have my full permission to rip his head off his neck."

Dave grinned evilly. "Cool."

Then there was the audition. Kurt waffled on asking Dave to attend — whether it would calm him or make him even more nervous. In the end, when Kurt walked out onto that stage, his pants starting to chafe a little, he saw a familiar burly figure sitting in the shadows.

He lost himself in his performance, as he usually did. The only glances he took out into the audience were directed towards Carmen Tibideaux. Afterward, flush with sweat, triumph, and Ms. Tibideaux's praise, he met Dave. "So! What did you think?" He had long lost any shame that would've made him reconsider those words being the first out of his mouth. Hey, he could be a little needy sometimes, he knew that. But what performer didn't bask just a little in the light of a positive review?

"It, uh..." Dave was blushing furiously, his glances stealing (quite unwillingly, Kurt was certain) towards a certain pair of gold-glittered pants. _Oh_. Now Kurt was ashamed — that he didn't think about Dave's feelings when considering whether to ask him to come to the audition. Before Kurt could apologize, or say anything else, Dave broke out in a smile, one that was birthed awkward and forced, but slowly grew more genuine as he said, "It was great. You were great. Which means I was right all along! Hah! Eat it, Hummel!"

Kurt snorted. "Give one piece of good advice and suddenly you're David Merrick, huh?" Dave opened his mouth. "He's a Broadway producer." Dave shut his mouth. "But I will admit that you occasionally give not half bad advice for a rank amateur. Maybe you've got some untapped potential yet."

"Huh. Maybe _I_ should've tried out for NYADA, then..."

"And competed against Rachel?"

"... On second thought, maybe not."

"Mmm, probably wise."

* * *

**Prom-asaurus**

"What'll it take to get you to the prom?"

Kurt turned to see Senior Class President (oh God, how he was still in shock over _that_ ) Brittany Pierce staring at him with an intense gaze that was simultaneously out of place and completely natural on her face.

"... Pardon?"

"You don't want to go. Neither does Dave."

"How did you know...?" But he supposed he shouldn't have been surprised; Brittany, for all her... unique worldview, often had a pretty spot-on instinct for what people were like and what they wanted. She wouldn't have been able to advance to the high school heights she had on looks alone if she were _completely_ stupid. Kurt idly wondered what sort of career her skills would be good for. PR, maybe? Gossip columnist? Private investigation assistant? It was an interesting thought exercise...

"The more singers we have to perform, the better. And I need you and Dave there for the coronation," Brittany continued, bringing Kurt back to the present day. "Last year's king and queen have to present the crowns. It's, like, tradition."

"And you know that I just _love_ tradition," Kurt said dryly. "Thanks, Brittany, but no thanks. I'm not looking forward to a repeat of last year."

"I've already outlawed write-in votes for prom court," Brittany said pleadingly. "And hair gel. I was gonna have the sprinklers shut off, but Principal Figgins said something about lawsuits, so I'll hand out umbrellas at the door. Come on, Kurt, I need this. The prom has to be _perfect_. My entire reign as Senior Class President depends on it!"

"A bunch of us have already decided to skip it."

"But it'll just be better with you all there!"

"True, but no."

Brittany's face hardened. "Fine, I'll buy you that orange scarf you were talking about last week."

Kurt froze. "... Rush delivery?"

"Done."

"And what about the others?"

"I'll figure something out. Except Dave. You ask Dave to come too."

"Why me?" Kurt asked carefully.

Brittany rolled her eyes. "Because he'll do anything you ask him to, duh."

Kurt groaned, feeling the wonderful silken caress around his neck flee. He was somewhat curious what exactly Brittany knew, or thought she knew, but honestly, he didn't have the strength at the moment. "If he doesn't want to go, I won't force him. I won't make any promises."

"Good enough."

"And I want a pair of cufflinks."

Brittany sighed dramatically. "Text me where to find them."

"Excellent!"

When he and Dave met later that day, he was up front about his sudden change of heart. " _Look_ at that design!" he enthused, practically waving the image on his phone in Dave's face. "By sheer coincidence, I had an outfit in mind that was missing that special something, so as soon as I saw it, I _knew_ I had to have it..."

"And I'm only worth a pair of cufflinks?" Dave asked with a half-smirk.

"Well, I couldn't demand _too_ much, not knowing if you wanted to go." Kurt paused. " _Do_ you want to go?"

"Not really, no. But..."

"But?"

"If the rest of you guys are going to be there... I want to share as much time as I can with you all. You... The glee club's made my senior year tolerable, even with all the shit Az and the others have been throwing my way, and if I have to be uncomfortable for a couple of hours to be with my... my friends, it's the least I can do. Besides, I want to be there in case..."

_In case someone tries something funny like last year_. Kurt could almost hear Dave complete the sentence. What would he do this year, if the worst happened? Blow out all the lights? Sneak laxatives into the punch bowl? The mind boggled. Hopefully, it wouldn't be necessary, but since when did life go according to plan for either of them?

When prom night came, Dave insisted on driving, again "just in case." "But we're not going together," he added hastily. "Well, we _are_ going together, but we're not—"

"I get it, Dave," Kurt said soothingly, trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice. "How about we give a ride to Finn and Quinn too? Would that help?"

Dave nodded in relief. "Yeah. Good idea. Thanks."

The ride over was surprisingly upbeat, despite the tensions from Finn's choice of prom date. Quinn had gotten her casts off relatively recently, so she was able to bop and raise the roof with the others as they sang along to Kurt's MP3s. Even Dave was belting it out from the driver's seat, which only lightened Kurt's heart further. How far he'd come from the arrogant bully, or the frightened boy huddled in the library...

When they arrived at McKinley, Dave dropped Finn and Quinn near the gym, then found a parking space. As Kurt and Dave wended their way towards the prom, Kurt's heart skipped a beat as he saw a cluster of rather large black shadows heading for them. Dave stopped cold; his hands tightened into fists.

The group of jocks, six strong and led by Azimio Adams, sauntered towards them, the overhead florescent lights casting sinister shadows over their faces. They stopped about eight feet away, hands in their pockets. There were glowers and smirks amongst them, but Azimio's was perhaps the most disturbing: a cold neutrality, as if he were about to casually step on a disgusting bug.

"Hey, Karofsky," he said, his voice as chilly as a Slushie.

"Az." With that single word, if Kurt had any doubt that Dave would unleash his power if he had to defend them both (or at least Kurt), exposure be damned, it vanished. He honestly wasn't sure who he was the most afraid for.

"Been giving us a bad name, boy," Azimio said. "Joining the glee club and hanging out with people like..." He cast a glare in Kurt's direction. " _Him_."

"You did that all by yourselves," Dave said flatly. "They've been better friends to me than any of you ever were." Here his face fell. "Except maybe you, Az. Jesus Christ, man, I had no idea you could be like this..."

"Yeah, well, being fucking _blackmailed_ kind of pisses a guy off." Azimio's coldness slowly warmed to a simmering rage. "And the Bully Whips bullshit? Do you have _any_ fucking idea how much trouble you and your singing buddies have gotten me into? I thought— I thought we were fucking _friends_."

"So did I."

"Oh, no, do _not_ put all that on me! You were right there beside me! Hell, you _started_ half that shit!"

Kurt wanted to grab Dave's arm, drag him away — at least tell him not to listen to this, that he'd made up for all that long ago, that everyone with a brain and eyes could tell that he wasn't Karofsky anymore...

"I know," Dave said hoarsely. "And that fucking glee club, the one you think is full of losers, knew it too, and they still accepted me anyway. That makes them way better people than me, you, or _any_ of the rest of you fuckheads will ever be."

There were shuffling feet from the back of the opposing group; Kurt couldn't see their faces, but he could imagine them. For Azimio's part, his expression didn't change in the slightest. "Shit, dude, those fags really did turn you gay, didn't they?"

Dave's form barely shuddered, much to Kurt's unwilling surprise. Then again, it was one thing to hear the rumors, and quite another to have it thrown into your face. "If being gay means being a good person, and less like you assholes, then bring on the fucking dudes."

It was walking a razor's edge; Dave had to know that. Yet he said it anyway. Azimio just snorted. "Whatever." And there it was, proof positive of the power of heteronormative stereotyping. No wonder Dave found refuge in it. "We just stopped by for a friendly little chat, but maybe we should—"

"How's it going, fellas?" Both groups turned; standing under one of the parking lot lamps were Puck, Joe, Rory, and Artie. Artie, as angry as he looked, wouldn't be able to do a lot in a straight up fight, and Rory honestly looked as scared as hell (though doing an excellent job tamping the fear down), but Puck and Joe definitely could hold their own — and they definitely looked prepared to. "Nice night, ain't it?" Puck continued, cracking his knuckles. "Shame if anything happened to ruin prom for everyone."

"Whatever, Puckerman," Azimio said. Why weren't the others talking? Was Azimio just their representative? Were they scared or angry or apathetic? It was maddening, not knowing. "There's, like, three of you, maybe two and a half, and six of us."

Flickers of varying levels of offense passed over Artie's and Rory's faces, and Kurt wouldn't have been surprised if the same had been true for his own as well. "You really wanna try us? You might be surprised," Puck replied, God bless him. "Plus, you're dealing with the top Bully Whip at McKinley here." Was he talking about himself or Dave? Did it matter? "If you wanna have to deal with Figgins and Sylvester..." Puck shrugged casually. "Be my guest."

Kurt had little doubt which name blanketed the other group in thoughtful silence. Finally: "Come on," Azimio grumbled. "What the fuck are we fucking around with these fags for when there's a party going on?" He turned on his heel and stalked back toward the gym, the others slowly following. Only when they were out of sight did Kurt let himself exhale, thought if Dave tried some sort of macho posturing like "I could've handled that," then he might have to beat him up anyway, telekinetic powers or no.

"You okay?" Puck asked as the glee club group approached.

Dave nodded. "Yeah. Thanks." _Very good, Dave._

"Hey, I never thought I'd be saying this, but you're my boy now." Puck clapped Dave on the back heartily. "Us football playing glee club geeks gotta stick together, y'know?" The others nodded in agreement, and God, was Kurt proud of his friends, and for himself for picking such good ones. "C'mon, let's get inside. You guys may be happy going stag, but I've got a date waiting, and she and Coach Sylvester will rip my balls off if I'm late."

Compared to the drama outside, the prom inside was actually sedate. Both Coach Sylvester and Brittany had cracked down to make sure that last year's junior prom events would not be repeated (though Dave rolled his eyes towards the ceiling every once in a while; Kurt just _loved_ being part of an in-joke). When Dave and Kurt crowned Finn and Quinn prom king and queen, there were a few hoots and hollers (though whether hostile or not was a coin flip), although just as many cheers and claps, thanks to the glee club and Bully Whips. Still, both of them were wiping sweat from their brows when it was over. They watched from the stage, just as surprised as everyone else, when Quinn stepped aside from the traditional dance and pulled a startled Rachel into Finn's arms.

"We're all moving on," was all Quinn said. Then she melted back into the crowd as the music struck up.

"We are," Dave said softly. "It's almost over."

Kurt nodded absently as they watched the dancing. "There's still Nationals left. Oh, and final exams."

"Geez, Kurt, way to harsh the buzz. Can't you let me relax a little once in a while?"

"Nope. I'm driven that way." Kurt thought of last year, of that (in retrospect) stupid _stupid_ suggestion he made on that very stage, when the gym was empty except for the two of them and the showers of water around them. He wondered if Dave was remembering that too. Probably. "Look, Dave—"

"Forget it." No surprise. "You didn't know, and I didn't tell you. I thought I could handle it." The music leaked through in the silence that followed. "I was wrong."

"Dave..."

"At least then I was wrong. But now... It's okay." Kurt turned to look at his friend; the corners of his mouth were quirked up slightly, his eyes sparkling in the harsh lights, but otherwise, he looked... normal. Okay. Of course, Kurt knew better than anyone Dave's talent at deception, but somehow, at that moment, he believed it. "Seriously."

Kurt nodded. "Good. I'm glad."

"Thanks." They turned back to the dance floor.

"So what are you going to do to Azimio and the others?"

It was a statement in of itself that Dave didn't question the question. "I don't know yet. I was thinking of messing with their cars, but that's been done. Maybe stick their lockers closed while they're in the shower. Or having Artie fake Facebook messages from each other's girlfriends. If there weren't so many witnesses around, I'd make some of these dinosaurs chase them and scare the shit out of them."

Kurt chuckled. "Very creative."

"I have a lot of practice making up ways to screw with people."

"Dave..."

"Oh, fine. I'm a good and worthwhile non-bully person who deserves sunshine and puppies all his life. Happy?"

"Yes."

* * *

**An Interlude with Sue Sylvester**

Kurt rapped on the office door, trying to ignore the clammy feeling in his closed fist from the sweat. Being called to Sue Sylvester's office rarely presaged anything good, especially when you were a member of a group she had sworn to ruin. Then again, what could she do to him now, with graduation so close? Threats, or some other last ditch effort to keep him from trying to win Nationals? That he could actually handle; if nothing else, Dave had taught him to reevaluate what he feared. Still, she was unpredictable, and that was by far the most dangerous thing about her.

"Come in." The muffled voice was sharp, brusque — nothing unusual so far. Kurt opened the door and stepped in. Coach Sylvester was at her desk, typing something on her laptop. "Shut the door. Close the blinds." Okay, that last part _was_ unusual... At least the room didn't seem to be soundproofed, so if he had to scream (and he could scream _real_ loud), he could—

_Stop that!_

Mentally chiding himself for his paranoia, he obeyed the coach's commands. As he did, he saw something he never noticed before: a snaking bundle of wires running around the frame of the door. What on earth could that be for...?

Behind him, Coach Sylvester coughed. He whirled around, willing his heart to slow. She waved impatiently at one of the chairs in front of her desk; he almost slid across the floor in his rush to sit. She made a last keystroke at her laptop, then turned to him, her hands laying on the desk in front of her, her fingers laced together.

"So. I understand you're running off to New York with a certain meathead."

Kurt blinked. He'd been prepared for an interrogation of some kind, but not about this... "Who...?" He actually had to think a moment. "You mean D—"

"Shh!" she hissed; Kurt's mouth snapped shut. "You're clean, but no sense taking unnecessary risks." She raised an eyebrow at him. "You've been taking enough of those on your own."

Kurt's heart was pounding again. _No... This couldn't... She couldn't possibly be talking about._.. "I don't see it that way, Coach," he finally managed to say. "I support the glee club, and despite what you may think of Mr. Schuester—"

"Do you have _any_ clue what you're doing with him, Kurt?" Sylvester asked bluntly. "Do you have _any_ idea what you're taking on by continuing to helping him?"

Kurt's throat was so dry, he could barely breathe, let alone from coherent words.

"Of course you don't," she answered herself, shaking her head in something akin to, but not quite, disgust. "You're like a golden retriever: lick first, think never. You just have to fix everything and everybody. You never stopped to think what might happen to _you_ if anyone ever found out."

Kurt finally found his voice. "Coach, I—"

"Luckily for you, you two have stayed under the radar so far. Keep it up, and you might, just _might_ , have a shot at something resembling a normal life." Sylvester leaned forward in her chair; Kurt didn't remember her ever _looming_ quite like that ever before. "But make no mistake: you're in too deep now. If I'd figured things out sooner... But it's too late. Even if you wanted out—"

"I don't!" The words came out before he could stop them. What in God's name was he _doing_?! But his mouth just wouldn't stop. "I can't."

"Then you really are more moronic than I thought," Sylvester sneered. She cocked her head slightly as she stared at him; Kurt futilely pressed his back against the chair. "But maybe some good comes out of people being too stupid to know when to stop." She sighed, leaning back in her own chair; it creaked under her shift in weight. "I asked you here to warn you that I can't help or protect you. It'd probably attract the wrong kind of attention and do more harm than good. But if you're really determined to ruin your life by helping that overstuffed teddy bear with the inappropriately mental talents..." Kurt felt like throwing up. "... Then you need to know that you have to tread _very_ carefully. There are those out there who... value people like your friend, and will stop at nothing to get at him... Including run right over you, if you're lucky. If you're not, they'll figure out what's plainly obvious to anyone with working synapses and vision and use you as leverage... Maybe permanently."

Kurt's mind was buzzing with static, barely comprehending the actual words being spoken to him, let alone their meaning. This was too much, this... "I..."

"Oh, yes, please continue," Sylvester said sarcastically. "I'd _love_ to know what _possible_ reason you could have for risking your own life, your friend's life, and the lives of everyone either of you knows or loves with this _hopeless_ endeavor."

Kurt's mind immediately sharpened into hard focus. How _dare_ she suggest that the right thing to do would've been to leave Dave to deal with his power on his own! "Because he's a human being who needed help," he said coldly — much more coldly than he would've normally thought wise to speak to Sue Sylvester.

"See, that's funny, because the last I checked, humans needed to use their _hands_ to move things."

"A _human being_ ," Kurt literally growled, "who deserved to be treated like one. Because he trusted me for... certain reasons, and there was no one else. As for what could happen to me... I've thought about it. I've thought a _lot_ about it. But if I'd abandoned him, if I'd watched him slide into insanity or let him disappear knowing that I could've done something, I wouldn't have been able to live with myself. Frankly, Coach Sylvester, I don't know what you think you know, but if you believe for one minute that I won't help him defend himself — even against you — then all my time on the Cheerios was wasted, because you have _no_ clue what I'm like or what I'm capable of. If you want to find out the hard way... try me."

Finally done, he crossed his arms and legs, looking down his nose at her the best he could. It was probably suicidal, what he was doing, what he was saying, but honestly, like Dave, he was tired of being afraid. Maybe later there would be time for second guessing and doubts — this was not it. For Dave's sake, for his own, he had to be strong.

Coach Sylvester was staring at him with pursed lips and a blank look that could've meant anything. Kurt could feel his pulse in his neck; it was useless to figure out what Sylvester was thinking, so he didn't even try. Finally, after what had to be at least two millennia...

"All right," she said, nodding. "Maybe you have the stones to pull this off after all." Kurt's jaw dropped. He had the distinct feeling that he'd passed some kind of test, though what it was for, and what the consequences would've been if he'd failed, he couldn't even imagine. "I still don't approve, but you've got a chance. Just remember what I told you: trust _no one_. Keep your eyes open. Maybe you'll actually muddle through this somehow. All I can do for you is wish you luck." She waved dismissively towards the door. "Now get out of here. I have until noon tomorrow to get my hands on another fifty pounds of C-4."

Kurt yearned to question her, find out what she knew, how she found out, if anyone else knew, who those others she was talking about were, if there was _anywhere_ she thought he and Dave could safely turn... But Sylvester was already deep into the pile of papers in front of her, and he knew that trying to draw her out when she didn't want to be drawn out would be futile. So he simply rose, nodded to her, and left the office.

Almost immediately, he ran into a group made up of Finn, Sam, Puck, and Artie. "Hey!" Finn called out.

"Hey." Kurt finger waved weakly.

"You talk to Sylvester?" Artie cocked his head towards the door Kurt had just left. "What did she want?"

"Oh, nothing. You know... the usual threats." But that was a lie, and the most disturbing part of the whole encounter. There wasn't one single over-the-top threat, one single outlandish story, one single demeaning nickname... He couldn't actually remember the last time she'd called him by his actual name...

He didn't tell Dave, not when he was already fighting so much. This fear would have to be his burden alone — just like so many others he carried silently.

But hell, what was one more among friends?


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As an aside, I have not forgotten that I have two chapters left on "Kept Close." I *will* finish that, I swear.

**Idle Speculation**

"Hm."

"What?"

There were certainly plenty of things Kurt could've been musing over: school, Nationals, the miniature blizzard of golf balls whirling in the air above him via telekinesis resembling nothing so much as those Brownian motion demonstrations from science class... But none of those particular items were weighing on his mind at that moment.

"I wonder..."

Dave snorted. "Out with it, Hummel. You know you want to tell me, so just go ahead."

"How are you handling all those golf balls?"

"Just fine. Now spill."

Kurt sighed in a put-upon, _why do I even bother?_ fashion. "Fine. I was just thinking some more about where your power might come from..."

"Yeah?"

"And you know homosexuality has a physical component — biological as well as genetic?"

"Yyyeah?"

"What if the parts of your brain responsible for your being gay are _also_ the origin of your power?"

The golf balls visibly paused in their motion for an instant before springing back to life once more. "So you're saying... that I might have this power _because_ I'm gay?"

"Or you might be gay because you have the power. I don't know."

"Huh. Wait, lemme try something..." The golf balls lined up in a series of interlocking rings that spun through and around each other like atoms; apparently, Kurt wasn't the only one thinking science class.

Not that Kurt was thinking science then, though. His mouth was agape in awe. Dave always insisted in glee that he wasn't a performer, not really, despite Kurt's and Finn's (and even sometimes Rachel's, surprisingly enough) protestations. But seeing _this_ , seeing what Dave could do now... No one could see this and deny that he was an artist. "It's beautiful..."

"I guess."

Kurt wanted to scream at him for that. How could he not _see_...? But he managed to keep his temper under control. "Believe me, it is. Your control's gotten so much better." _So has your strength_. But Kurt didn't feel the need to say that out loud. They both knew that it was true... and what it could mean. Every session it seemed that Dave's control was just barely keeping ahead of his strength. But for how long?

Kurt would've given practically anything to answer that one little question.

"You were right about one thing, though..." Dave began.

"Just one?"

"Yes, _one_. I'm not feeding your goddamn ego here."

"You wound me, Dave. So what was it?"

"I think... the more I work with my power, the more okay I'm getting with it. It really is just a part of me — a really weird part, but just one little part all the same." Kurt nodded encouragingly as Dave continued. "Which means it's something I have to deal with, head on. I can't run from it anymore. I have to live with it. And I've got a responsibility, to myself and everyone around me, to get a handle on this shit." He watched, silent for a moment, as the rings of golf balls merged into one band, rotating and spinning faster and faster above the two teenagers. "It almost doesn't matter where the power came from. I've got it, and that's that. What really matters is what I do with it: whether I hide like I used to like a fucking coward, or be a goddamn man for once and step up."

Kurt nodded again, his fascinated stare still locked on the living art over his head. "I can only find a few points here and there to argue with... Overall, you're absolutely right."

"And another thing... the more I work with the power, the more... connected I am with it. I can feel more easily when it's starting to build up... when it might get out of control." Dave's eyes locked onto Kurt's; there was an all too familiar _fear_ there, rippling under his gaze. "When it's getting stronger."

Kurt could practically feel himself deflate. "Oh, Dave..."

"I can handle it... for now. But it's hard, and it's getting harder."

"Then we'll just have to work harder ourselves," Kurt said with more confidence than he felt. "Keep ahead of it. We've come this far; why can't we go even further?"

"I hope you're right."

"So am I." Kurt watched, hands in his pockets, as the golf balls fell from the air into five perfectly neat little piles.

Dave exhaled. "Whew. That was a workout."

"Good. Then we should be in fine shape for Nationals. Since we're going by bus, it should be easier on both of us. Say, could you hand me an apple?"

"Sure." The apple floated out of Dave's open backpack (though they were back outdoors for training, the wild fruit all around them were still maturing in the warming spring weather) and plopped itself directly into Kurt's waiting hand.

"Thanks," he said distractedly as he bit into his snack.

"No problem." Dave's brow knitted in thought. "Huh."

"What?"

"If you're right about my power and my gayitude being connected..."

"'Gayitude'?" Kurt repeated in amusement.

"Yeah, I just made that word up. Cool, huh? Anyway, if they are connected... then that means that _you_ could develop a power someday."

Kurt grinned innocently. "Why, that never crossed my mind."

"And that could also mean that _only_ gays could have powers."

"What, are you accusing me of having dreams of an all-homosexual superhero league? One that could strike fear into the hearts of evildoers and homophobes the world over, advancing the cause of equality light years in one stroke? With me as leader and public face? That would be silly and childish! And _awesome_."

Dave laughed. "So what kind of power would you want?"

"God, there are so many interesting possibilities...! I'd be happy with the standard Superman suite: flight, invulnerability, super strength... Although telepathy would also be good... Oh! Ice production and manipulation! The things I could do with that...!"

"Yeah, well, there's a shitload of issues about having powers that the comic books never told me about." Kurt looked up; Dave was leaning against a tree, his arms folded, his eyes downcast. "You know how when you're a kid, you dream about being special? Then, as you get older, you just want to be like everyone else? I know I can't change what I am, I just... I wonder sometimes. About what my life would be like if I didn't have any powers. I don't even think about being straight — just... no powers. Would I be less afraid? Would my life be any better?" He looked up at Kurt, his lower lip trembling. "Would yours?"

Kurt rubbed his eyes with one hand. "It's useless to speculate. Like you said, we can't change your brain, and even if we could, so many things would be different that I can't even begin to speculate what we'd be like right now. But..." He took in a breath, pushing down the tiny wisps of reluctance to take this step. "I like to think that no matter what... We would've still been friends. That we would've found strength in each other to get through whatever difficult times we had..."

"Seems to me you just do stuff for me. What have I done for you?"

"Besides saving me from a concussion in a fall? Besides encouraging me to go for the gusto in my NYADA audition? Besides lending your talents to my glee club, propelling us to Nationals?" Kurt smiled, warm and genuine. "You've been a friend. That's good enough for me. But even besides that, you... You're stronger than you think. All that pressure, all those secrets, all that fear... And you haven't buckled under."

"That's because of you."

"No, I may contribute, but I can't possibly prop you up all by myself, Dave, and I wouldn't want to even if I could. I may lend support, but the rest of it... It's all you. And I admire that. Honestly, I do. You've encouraged me to push forward with my own dreams, no matter what happens. If you can stand up in the face of your power, your sexuality, your family... Then I can overcome a little societal narrow mindedness." Kurt grinned. "I wouldn't be a Hummel if I couldn't."

Kurt could see Dave's throat working. He sniffed, wiped his eyes. Finally, he said in a hoarse voice, "Do you mind if a friend gave a friend a hug?"

"Of course not."

And they stood there, in that forest clearing, their arms tight around each other, each finding some of the strength that he thought he lacked.

It was a bit of a weird friendship, but what the hell — it'd been working so far.

* * *

**The Bus to Chicago**

Dave groaned. "Fuck, my legs are cramping up..."

Finn grimaced. "You and me both, dude."

Kurt cracked open an eye, the window glass cold against the side of his head; his stepbrother and friend were sitting in the row directly in front of him. He saw Finn turn so that his legs stretched across the aisle over the side of his seat, giving Dave extra room to stretch out. Both boys sighed in relief. Fortunately, most of the rest of the bus was ensconced in their own little worlds, either napping as Kurt was, or listening to music, or surfing the Web on their phone, or under-the-breath rehearsing (okay, that one was just Rachel). Kurt was about to try to get back to sleep when Finn spoke, low as to not disturb anyone.

"Hey, you figure out college yet?"

"Yeah. I got accepted to Columbia. I'm gonna go there."

"Hey, congratulations, man!" He offered a very masculine fist-bump, which was accepted. "How come Kurt and I didn't know about this yet?"

"I just got the letter yesterday. I guess I was so nervous about Nationals, I just forgot."

"Wait... Columbia's in New York City, isn't it?"

"Yeah?"

Kurt was barely able to make out Finn's squint from his angle. "Are you following Kurt?"

"No, I'm following Rachel. We're gonna get it on after all of her Broadway performances."

"Shut up!" Dave laughed as Finn punched him in the shoulder. "Seriously, though... Do you, like... Do you still like Kurt?"

_Still_. That meant that Dave must have told Finn... Yet neither of them told Kurt that he knew... _Huh. Maybe Finn's better at keeping a secret than I thought_. But then, he'd kept Dave's sexuality under wraps all this time, so maybe he wasn't giving his stepbrother enough credit. And the fact that Dave felt comfortable telling Finn at all... If he had to guess, Dave probably thought Finn "deserved" to know, being family. "Look, it's... complicated," Dave said.

"No shit."

"But he's my friend. So's Rachel, in a weird kind of way." It was true; Rachel had been corralling Dave into talking about who-knows-what all year. Perhaps it was because she knew he was a neutral ear — knowledgeable in the drama of New Directions yet not part of it. "There's a lot in my decision to go to Columbia, but I swear to God, whatever feelings I may have for Kurt isn't part of it. We're friends, and I'm not gonna do anything to jeopardize that, and that includes being a fucking stalker."

Finn started to turn back; Kurt quickly closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep. After a few seconds, he heard Finn speak. "Okay. Good. I just... I worry about him, y'know? I didn't always treat him so good..."

"Me neither, remember? Kurt's always been stupidly forgiving. Guess we both got more than we deserved."

"You can say that again." Kurt wanted badly to open his eyes, to talk to them, but the present circumstances were hardly adequate for such a heartfelt discussion. He resolved to do so once they returned home — hopefully with trophy in hand.

"What about you?" Dave asked. "You decided on college?"

"Kinda. I mean, if I don't get into Pace, I... I've decided I was gonna do that thing we were talking about before."

"Right." _Huh._ Whatever this "thing" was, Kurt was pretty sure that neither he nor his dad knew what it was. But Dave apparently did... He tried not to feel too hurt; God knew that he was the last person on Earth who should feel slighted at other people having secrets. And if Finn didn't even feel comfortable whispering about it when other people were around... Kurt could definitely respect that. As much as he wanted to be everything to his stepbrother (except what he wanted to be when he first decided they should be stepbrothers), he knew he couldn't be. He only had to look at his relationship with Dave to know that. He couldn't begrudge Finn having other people to turn to, and if one of them was Dave... Well, that could only be good for both of them, right?

Kurt didn't hear anything more of the conversation, because "pretending to sleep" quickly turned into "actually asleep." So whatever else the two may have discussed, while the bus rolled on towards Chicago and destiny, he didn't hear. Maybe, he mused much later, it was better that way. Dave deserved moments with Finn that were his own.

They all did.

* * *

**Nationals**

Applause.

Glory!

VICTORY!

Kurt wanted to laugh maniacally. He wanted to snatch his— _their_ trophy and dance around the stage with it, maybe wave it in Jesse St. James' weasely _vanquished_ face. It's ours! Not yours! _We_ won! Not you! Ha! And _ha_ again!

He didn't usually believe in karma (though his resistance towards the supernatural in general was weakened for obvious reasons), but if it did exist, _this_ was definitely it. Take that, Jesse, with your schemes and sabotage and rotten eggs! Take that, because _we_ win. _Us_ , New Directions. National champions New Directions! National champion New Directions member Kurt Hummel!

God, he loved the sound of that.

Mike and Tina were clinging to each other. Brittany looked close to openly weeping. Dave had gathered Mercedes in his arms and was swinging her around and around, both laughing. A pair of long arms wrapped around Kurt from behind.

"We did it, little brother," Finn said in his ear.

Normally, Kurt would've argued about this constant need for Finn to call him "little brother," just because he, like 90% of the population, was shorter than Finn. But not now. All he did was spin and return the embrace tightly.

"Yeah. Yeah, we did it," he whispered.

The bus ride back was raucous, full of high fives and hugs and selfies with the trophy quickly spread online. Their reception at school the next day was full of applause and confetti.

"Everybody loves a winner," Kurt said with a shrug as he picked a piece of purple paper off his shoulder.

"I guess so," Dave said, letting out a relieved breath at the not-Slushie.

"So," Kurt said as the group went down the hall, Artie rolling out in front with their trophy, "Dave Karofsky: state football champion, national show choir champion."

"Along with Finn and Mike and Sam and Puck and Artie..."

"So you're part of an exclusive club. McKinley may never see the likes of you again." He paused to wave at a group of applauding fellow students. Hey, he had to give back to his public somehow.

"I think that's a pretty good bet." Dave nodded at one of his ex-football compatriots, one who was actually a pretty decent guy, if Kurt remembered correctly. What was his name...? Terry? Tony?

"You know what this means, though?"

"What?"

"You're fully one of us now. Forevermore, no matter what happens now, you'll be a singing dancing gleek. You belong — with the rest of us outcasts."

"I belong..." Dave ducked his head for a moment — a rather obvious ploy that Kurt tolerated. When he raised his face again, there was no sign of any tear or emotion other than mild amusement. "Oh, no, I'm a gleek. Whatever will I do? I might become... unpopular."

"Perish the thought."

"Just don't expect me to try singing out any of my problems."

"Oh, believe me, I know you're saner than that."

* * *

**Last Ditch Effort**

"So..." Mercedes began.

"So...?" The two were walking down the hall to their one shared class (Chemistry), chattering about their still-fresh Nationals victory (Kurt was talking about the copies he'd made of their winning performance, while Mercedes was discussing options for converting the soundtrack into part of a CD she could send to agents and studios), when the light atmosphere suddenly turned into lead.

"We're just about ready to graduate..."

"Yes...?"

"And I still don't know what went on between you and Dave."

Kurt's steps stuttered, much as they had the first time this topic came up between them so many millennia ago. "What do you mean? I thought you considered him a friend now."

"Well, I do, mostly. It's just... It's like he became a completely different person almost overnight, and I _know_ you had something to do with it."

Kurt tried to shrug casually. "You know what a positive influence I am..."

"It's more than that, and you know it!" Mercedes snapped. "I know you two aren't dating..." Kurt almost ran into someone going in the other direction; he nodded apology and resolved to spend more time looking where he was walking. "... But I don't know what else there is! It's like you opened up Dave's head and put in someone else's brain! I just can't figure it!"

"Do you _have_ to know?" Kurt asked quietly.

"Oh, I know how nosy I sound, it's just...!" She sighed. "We haven't been close for a long time. Not like before, and... I miss that. I know a lot of it's my fault, but I still... I miss being your best friend."

Oh, God, how could Kurt ignore _that_? "I miss it too, Mercy. But sometimes... sometimes these things just happen. You got caught up in your thing and I got caught up in mine." How funny it was, that so many live changing events, so much heartache and fear and stress, could be summed up with such innocuous words. "Life used to be so simple, you know?"

"I know!" she said, even though she didn't. "And I'm sorry. I'm sorry I let you go like that. You deserved better."

He stopped to face her. "And I'm sorry too, for letting you do it, and for my part in it. Like I said, these things happen sometimes, but it takes two to tango."

"Do you think...? It'll be hard with you in New York and me in California, but... I'd like to try to rebuild what we had... if you want to." She held out a hand. Kurt took it in his. How could he do anything else?

"I'd like that. I'd like that a lot."

* * *

**Final Session**

"I have to say, Kurt, you've made a lot of progress," Ms. Pillsbury said. "Your stress levels have gone down, and your mood has improved since you first started seeing me."

It was all true. It wasn't that Kurt's sources of stress had been reduced — far from it — but he'd learned more coping mechanisms. He'd learned to take time for himself, to trust that Dave would be fine without him for a couple of days or a week if necessary. He'd learned to talk about what he _could_ talk about to Ms. Pillsbury and others, to organize and plan. He'd learned to not accept the weight of the world on his shoulders unless he was truly prepared for it and wanted it.

"Thank you. You've really been a great help to me." As his sessions with her had gone on, he'd become less and less surprised at just how much she'd been of help. It seemed that, isolated from romantic drama and office politics, she was actually capable of being a fine counselor. Who'd have thought it?

"You're welcome," she said, almost radiant with pride. "It's my job, and I take pride in doing it well. And you're not the only one who—" She stopped short with a small gasp. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't be talking about other students."

"That's all right." It did remind him, though, that Dave should be having his final session with Ms. Pillsbury soon as well, if he hadn't already. Kurt wondered if Dave's growing focus and maturity was also thanks to her. He wished he could ask either one of them; he wished he could thank her for helping his friend. He just had to hope Dave did it for him.

"So what did you want to talk about today? It can be about anything you want. If you want to talk more about Nationals, that's fine too..."

"Well, there is something serious I wanted to discuss." Ms. Pillsbury nodded, leaning forward over her desk. "It's about college..."

One of Ms. Pillsbury's best counseling qualities was that she was a very good sounding board. She actually devoted her full attention to your words and issues — or, at least, she appeared to, which was just as good.

When they were finished, Ms. Pillsbury nodded. "It's your future, Kurt. I can only make suggestions, and it's up to you whether to take them. But for what it's worth, I do believe you've thought this through very thoroughly. If this is truly what you want, you should do it."

"It is. Thank you."

Kurt leaned down to gather up his bag, but Ms. Pillsbury said, "If I could ask... How's your friend?"

He straightened. "He's... doing okay. Maybe not fully okay, but... better. Much better."

"I'm glad." That Kurt truly believed, which was part of the reason he was glad that she actually had some competency at her job. "Since this is our last session, if I could just say—"

"Yes, Ms. Pillsbury, I know you still think I should pass him off to other resources, and that you don't believe me when I tell you there aren't any. Could we just... Could we just end this on a high note? Please?"

Ms. Pillsbury hesitated, then nodded. "All right. You've accepted my help enough in the past that I'll trust you to do the right thing." She rose, extending a hand. "Good luck with NYADA, Kurt. And on behalf of Mr. Schuester and myself, it was a pleasure having you at this school."

Kurt took her hand firmly and warmly. "Thank you. I can't say it was all good, but... it was good enough."

Ms. Pillsbury smiled. "In an uncertain world, that's all anyone can ask for, isn't it?"

And she was right. For one last time, Kurt thought, she was right.

* * *

**Goodbye**

"Excuse me..."

All the excited chatter immediately stopped — remarkable, considering how soft those words were, and how much the group talking enjoyed hearing the sound of their own voices. Dave stood in front of the choir room, nervously wiping his palms on his jeans.

"Dave?" Mr. Schue began questioningly.

"I... just wanted to say something." He licked his lips. "I wanted to thank you. All of you. For accepting me. For letting me into your club even after everything I did to everyone. I... It's been a rough time for me lately, and I don't think I would've gotten through it without you all." His eyes rested on each face in turn. "Each and every one of you guys. You gave me a second home, a second family and... I'll never forget it. Never."

"Aww," Tina squealed.

Without a moment's hesitation, Finn rose and wrapped Dave in a tight hug. Dave stiffened in surprise for a second, then accepted the gesture, clapping Finn on the back. As one, the others surrounded the two; even Artie managed to squeeze himself in as much as he was able. Kurt, of course, was right there with everyone else, thinking about a time when most of the people there were sitting around a lunch table, contemptuously dismissing the young man at the center of their little group hug.

Amazing what can change if you just work at it.

Ironically, the spot on which Kurt stood for that heartwarming scene was the very same spot on which he nearly collapsed just days later.

As it was, Kurt did sink to his knees, the letter from NYADA clutched in his hand. _Do not cry, do not cry..._ He was actually succeeding a lot better than he thought he would. Still, he barely felt Dave's heavy hands on his shoulders.

"Do I have to go to New York and rip apart that fucking school brick by brick?" he rumbled; Kurt almost thought he sounded like he _would_ , too. But then, he was a friend ( _a friend who has feelings for you_ , some small part of his brain reminded himself), so really, it was the least he could offer.

The others had discreetly slipped out of the choir room — smart move, at least on Rachel's part ( _How the hell had she gotten in? After that audition?_ Finding out later about Jesse St. James' involvement just made him wish he'd stooped to his level and actually gloated at Nationals). He shook his head. "It'd be satisfying, but it wouldn't change this letter." He stared down at the crumpled paper in his hand.

"So... what do you want to do?"

"Right now? I just... want to sit here for a while. Wallow in my misery."

Dave sat down next to him cross-legged. "Misery loves company. Can I wallow with you?"

"You're welcome to if you want." He barely noticed Dave's presence as he stared out into space, almost watching his dreams crumbling in front of his eyes. But that presence was welcome nonetheless.

By graduation, the pain had receded. It hadn't disappeared, not by a long shot, but better was better. Besides, it was a time for celebration — for more than one reason.

Dave had a secret. No, not that one, or _that_ one, but a secret nonetheless. Kurt could see it in the impatience — much more than he should've had for even a momentous event like graduation. He could see it in the sly half-smiles and the nervous tics. Of course, he _had_ to know, and surprisingly, Dave obliged, to an extent.

"My mom is coming to graduation."

"Oh." Well, that couldn't be it — at least, that couldn't be all of it. Whatever Dave was anticipating, whatever he was feeling, it couldn't be over _that_. Not with the moods he was exuding. "Do you want her there?"

"No... and maybe," he sighed. "I mean, she walked out on my dad... walked out on us. I'm pretty sure she still wants me to go to a straight camp..."

"But she's still your mother. And she still loves you, even if it's in a twisted, incomplete way." Kurt was the last person who'd deny the power a mother could have over a child, even if in the wrong, even if separated by long-held beliefs... or even death itself.

Dave nodded. "I don't think I can stop her if I tried — not without causing a huge scene. She's going to be there, at least to see me graduate. So I've decided."

"Decided...?"

The sly half-smile came back. "You'll see."

And Kurt did see. So did the rest of McKinley High School's class of 2012. So did their friends and family, including Dave's mother — which, Kurt was certain, was the entire point. Or most of it, anyway.

Dave got stares and odd looks — a lot of them, especially from his ex-friends and teammates. But not one of them questioned it, or even approached him. Santana, Brittany, Finn, and Rachel just nodded; the rest of New Directions stared, and blinked, and stared some more, but otherwise said nothing. Kurt looked around for Mrs. Karofsky, but even though he knew she was present, she was lost in the crowds, so he never did see her immediate reaction, unfortunately. If he had, it would've immediately been photographed and put into a keepsake album of some kind. It was _that_ good, he was certain.

When David Paul Karofsky stepped up to the stage to receive his diploma, it was with a rainbow colored tassel hanging from his mortarboard.

His glee club comrades, and quite a few people who'd been served by the Bully Whips (now an official school club that would continue with the New Directions juniors-cum-seniors), applauded and wolf whistled (or at least Puck wolf whistled). Dave beamed. He beamed as he tossed his rainbow-adorned cap into the air with the others, though he took more care than them to catch it as it fell (guided, perhaps, by a certain force?). He beamed when he hugged Kurt and Finn, diploma clutched in hand. He beamed when Paul Karofsky swept him up in his own embrace, muttering words muffled by his son's shoulder that expressed such pride that Kurt felt vicarious joy. He beamed much less when Diane Karofsky approached, hugging him and sincerely congratulating him on his achievements, though with a brittle voice and a brittle smile. But it was back to full strength when he was surrounded by his friends. The people who truly loved him.

"Dude..." Puck batted at Dave's tassel. "Does this mean you're...?"

"Yes," Kurt said, laughing so hard he was almost crying, his chest bursting with a dozen different emotions from a dozen different sources at once. Just picturing Dave's mother, having to watch her son wear that in front of all these people... God, it was so delicious...

"Seriously? Shit, I thought, like, only ten percent of us were gays! But we had _four_ in the glee club all this time?"

"Hey," Finn said with a shrug and a grin, "maybe the guys were right all along when they said the glee club was for fags." Puck's eyes widened; Kurt couldn't help but burst out even harder in laughter. The others joined him.

"Wait a second..." Quinn squinted at several of the faces around her. "You knew," she said accusingly at Finn, who instinctively shrank back. "So did you." Santana just shrugged casually. "And you!" Rachel tried to ape Santana's shrug, but failed to capture its _je ne sais quoi_.

"Does it matter now?" Dave asked.

Quinn regarded him for a moment. "No. No, it doesn't." She threw her arms around his neck and pulled herself tight against him. The small, close-knit crowd around them cheered.

So it was that a fully out of the closet Dave Karofsky waved goodbye as Rachel's train pulled out of the station not long afterward. Only seconds before, she'd hugged Kurt, whispering in his ear, "You'd better come soon. I'll be laying the groundwork for your arrival." As he watched Finn run alongside the departing train, there was that weird mix of emotions again in his chest — only this time, of very different qualities.

"Did you know?" he asked Dave quietly.

"Yeah," came the reply. "I tried to talk him out of it, at least convince him to talk to her first, but you know Finn... Stubborn as fuck."

"And about the Army?"

He could see Dave stiffen. "I... I thought he should tell you that himself."

Kurt nodded. "No, it's okay, Dave. I understand." Finn had reached the end of the platform, staring off at the disappearing train. "It must've been hard, keeping it from Rachel."

"Kinda. I mean, I think she thinks we're closer than I think we are."

"Mm, sounds like her."

"But it didn't feel right, putting myself into the middle of that without good reason."

"Probably the right decision. Your judgment is improving."

"I've had to grow up pretty fast these past couple of years. And I had a good influence in my life."

"Oh?" Kurt asked airily. "He must be a paragon amongst men."

"I don't know if I'd put it that way..." Dave said teasingly.

"And why not?!"

"There. That's the reason. Right there."

"What a shame. Just graduated from high school, and already a dead man. Pity."

"Hey, I got ways to defend myself."

"Against ninjas? I think not."

"Oh, so you're a ninja now?"

"'Now'? Want to find out?"

"... I actually have no idea."

* * *

**A Walk in the Park**

"So what are you going to do now?"

Dave had asked that question weeks ago, when they first found out the devastating news. Kurt wondered whether he had any better an answer now than he had then. Maybe, but... He heaved a long sigh. "I'm going to New York."

"I hope so. It can't be just me and Rachel there. I'd go fucking bonkers within a week."

It was the first days of summer; it was hot, the skies cloudless, but not quite yet sweltering. Dave and Kurt were strolling through a suburban park, ostensibly for exercise, but mostly as a way to talk, honestly and openly, without too much fear of someone overhearing. Kurt's light shirt flapped in a passing breeze, sticking to a bead of sweat running down his chest. He adjusted his sunglasses on his nose.

"Don't worry, I wouldn't put you through that torture. I've thought this through, and I think I'm going to try to reapply to NYADA. I'll get a job or an internship in the meantime. If I don't get in... then I'll spend a year working and apply for Parsons or Tisch next year with a better resume. What do you think?"

Dave shrugged. "Don't ask me; I don't know anything about arts schools or Broadway. But it's a plan, and I know you're gonna pursue it. That has to be good, right?"

"Better than just aimlessly wandering Lima in a funk, I agree. I've got extra motivation to get out of here, as if I needed it." He poked Dave in the shoulder.

"Yeah, well, I don't mind telling you that I'm as nervous as fuck. This'll be the first time I've ever left Ohio for more than a week."

"That's actually better reason to look forward to it. Oh, Dave, wait until you _see_ New York City. It—"

"Chloe! Chloooeeeeee!"

The distressed cries to their right came from a little girl in a pink My Little Pony shirt. She was standing at the base of a large, full tree, looking up; even from this distance, they could see tears in her eyes.

Kurt glanced at Dave. He shrugged. So the two left the walk and approached the little girl.

"Hi," Kurt said gently; there seemed to be some kind of unspoken mutual agreement that he, as the less physically intimidating one, should be the spokesperson. It was remarkable, Kurt supposed, the kind of bond two people develop when they share something so huge between them. The girl whirled towards them, mouth gaping, but otherwise said nothing. "Is something the matter?"

"Chloe ran away! I chased her all the way over here, but now she's up the tree!"

She pointed upwards; the two teenagers followed her finger with their eyes. A grey and black striped cat sitting on (or perhaps more like clinging to) one of the thin upper branches meowed pitifully.

Dave looked at Kurt. Kurt looked at Dave.

"Seriously?" Kurt said with raised eyebrow. "This is _so_ cliche."

"Come on, Kurt, look at the poor thing!" Dave waved a hand at the cat.

"Have a soft spot for animals there, Mr. Tough Hockey Player?"

"Hey, my cat Misha ran away when I was eight. That was some serious childhood trauma."

"Okay, okay, I'm not going to question someone else's past tragedies. If you think you can get her down without... You know..." Kurt barely took notice of the little girl's confused and tense stares as she looked back and forth between the two as they talked.

"Look at that branch. I don't think it'd hold my weight. Lucky for us, the tree's got a lot of leaves. If you could, you know, _talk_ to her..." He cast a significant glance at the girl, who made no bones about noticing it.

Kurt looked up and down the street. It was quiet, with nary a car passing by. Anyone could've been watching from any of the adjoining houses, but Dave was right; the tree's foliage was thick enough that it'd be pretty much impossible to see anything happening up there. He sighed. "Oh, _fine_. Go and rescue the kitty, Captain Fury."

Dave glared at him as the little girl gasped. "Really? Thank you!"

"Okay, stand back." Dave got a running start, then sprinted towards the tree, planting a foot onto the side of the trunk and launching himself high enough to grab a branch. The entire tree seemed to shake; the cat screeched as Dave pulled himself up onto one of the thick lower branches. He hopped from branch to branch, painstakingly making his way towards the trembling cat.

"Be careful!" the girl cried out.

Dave was finally as close as he could get without snapping a tree limb. He tried reaching over, but the cat was still a good three feet from his outstretched hand. "Don't worry," he called down. "I'll get her. Kurt, could you, uh... tell her everything's going to be okay?"

Kurt almost facepalmed; it was fortunate the girl wasn't any older, or she would've seen right through his rather clumsy signal. Nevertheless, it was still a recognized signal; he knelt down in front of the little girl. "Hey. Look at me." She dutifully turned around to face him. "It's going to be all right. Dave's going to help Chloe." His eyes flickered upwards; behind the girl's back, safely hidden by rich green leaves, Dave reached out again — this time with his telekinesis. The cat was pulled away from the branch so suddenly that it didn't even have time to cry out. By the time it did manage to screech, it was safely in Dave's arms. The girl turned at the sound, but by then, Dave was already hopping down to the ground, a jittery but safe cat in hand.

"Chloe!" she cried, gathering the cat into her arms and burying her face into its side. "Thank you! Thank you so much!"

"No problem," Dave said with a smile. "Just make sure she doesn't run away again, okay?" The girl nodded rapidly and ran off towards one of the nearby houses. They watched her cross her lawn and open her door, barely hearing her excited voice call out for her mother before she disappeared into her home.

"Feel good?" Kurt asked quietly.

Dave exhaled. "Yeah. Yeah, I do."

"You know how much I hate it when you take unnecessary risks."

"I know, I know. There are a lot of other ways I could've helped without—"

"But... I have to admit your instincts were right about this one. This is how we improve the world, Dave: one person at a time. One small step at a time. No gesture like this is ever wasted. If nothing else, it doesn't add to the misery in the world, and that's a victory in of itself."

"I don't know whether that's hopeful or cynical."

Kurt shrugged. "Maybe both? I happen to think that's life."

"You might be right about that. It's kind of like, I dunno, having telekinesis. It's how you use it, y'know? What you make of it."

"That's... more true than I thought it'd be. Huh." A welcome cool breeze picked up, tickling both their faces. "Maybe I'm deluding myself, but I actually feel pretty good about the future right now. Better than I have in a long time."

"I'll try not to disappoint you."

"Never — not when you've come so far. But I appreciate the effort."

They walked in companionable silence.

"Hey..." Kurt began, "I never asked you... How does it feel to finally be an openly gay man?"

"Well... It's one less secret to keep, so _that_ feels pretty damn good..."

"Mm."

"I've gotten some hate on Facebook, but you already know that..."

"Artie is digging up dirt on those bigots to give to Jacob ben Israel as we speak."

"Remind me to thank him and the others; my wall looks a lot better now. Anyway, overall... I guess I kind of feel the same? Which I bet you'll say is the point."

"That it is, Dave. That it is."

* * *

**Force**

For over a decade, summer had represented freedom for teenagers like Kurt and Dave. Sure, there were strictures of varying kinds — summer school, camp — but otherwise, it meant play, fun, careless joy.

But like so many things in life, summer lost its luster as they grew older. They became grown up enough for summer jobs, internships, and harder academic pursuits than a one month theatre class.

The progression reached its climax that summer after graduation — their last in Lima before stepping out into the wider world, their last chance to prepare for burgeoning adulthood. It meant going through the motions of some typical, age-old rituals... and some not so typical.

It was the same rock that Dave had lifted two winters ago. He held it in the air for minutes, through a conversation, before having to drop it in mental exhaustion. Now Dave tossed it through the air as if it were a pebble, a plaything, spinning it in loops and whorls. He even tapped it gently on the top of Kurt's head in jest; Kurt reacted with annoyance at the dirt in his hair, not concerned for even a second that the heavy rock would drop and crush his skull.

Dave laughed, but the hearty sound cut itself short. He stared at the hovering rock, barely even trembling in its suspension.

"Dave...?"

"I... I want to try something..." His stare intensified. Now the rock started to shimmy, just a little. Dave started breathing hard through his nose, then through his mouth, his forehead wrinkling. Kurt watched in confusion.

Then he heard it: a sharp snapping sound. Then he saw it: a crack opening up in the bottom of the rock. Dave's stare intensified — he hadn't thought it possible. The crack grew wider and longer, running across the rock's equator. More cracks joined it, forming a web across its entire surface. The snapping, the harsh grinding — it was a cacophonous, nerve-strumming sound, like listening to someone grit their teeth too hard. Kurt's spine felt like it was vibrating.

Dave's right hand was clenched in a fist, so hard that Kurt could see his whitened knuckles. He could feel the pressure building — in Dave, in the rock, in the air itself... His breath hitched; it was as though he was teetering on the edge of a cliff waiting to fall. His entire body, his entire mind, was tight with tension just waiting for release... And if _he_ felt that way just watching, he couldn't imagine what Dave was feeling...

The breaking point was almost a relief. The rock shattered into four pieces, and a small shower of pebbles. Both teenagers watched the shards fall to the ground in a clatter. Dave gasped, itself a release, and his eyes almost completely rolled up in their sockets. He staggered backwards, only a nearby tree preventing him from falling over entirely.

"Dave!" He was at his friend's side in an instant, lowering his considerable weight to the ground as best he could. Dave's breathing was back to normal, but he was pale, trembling. "Dave, are you okay?"

He nodded, raising a shaking hand to wipe the sweat from his brow. Kurt let out his own exhale of relief. "S-sorry. I... I'm fine. I just... That took a lot more out of me than I thought it would."

"What... what was that all about?"

"I knew I could do it," Dave said in a low harsh whisper. "I _wanted_ to do it," he said, louder and firmer. "I could feel the power, feel that I was strong enough..." He laughed, a high, discordant sound. "Dave Karofsky, human rock crusher."

Kurt almost recoiled from how Dave looked in that moment, especially his eyes. They were wide, wild with energy almost sparking within them... He could almost _see_ Dave's telekinesis as a physical force in those eyes. "Dave... I have to be honest, you're worrying me a little..."

When Dave spoke again, after a long silence, his voice was steadier, more familiar. "You're not the only one." He sighed, rubbing his eyes. When he lowered his hands, some color had returned to his cheeks, calm to his eyes. Dave looked much more normal, to Kurt's bottomless relief. "I know it sounds weird, but I just felt like... like I _needed_ to do it. Push myself, like I would on the rink or on the field. You know how you can tell how far you can push a workout? How you can feel how long it'll take for your legs to cramp up, or how much more weight you can lift? It's kind of like that with the power now. I feel connected with it, and..." He let out a ragged breath. "I'm going to keep getting stronger. I know that now. The power will stop growing, someday, but not now. Maybe not soon."

Kurt wasn't sure which of them was more afraid. They were both doing a damn good job of keeping it down, probably so the other wouldn't completely flip out. It was an odd balance they were striking, him and Dave. It always had been.

He wasn't even sure why this was shaking them so; after all, hadn't Dave crushed an entire truck a few months previous? Perhaps it was because the "victim" this time was stone — something imprinted on the human psyche as eternal, impervious, even though obviously it was anything but. Perhaps it was the way Dave acted afterward: a little on edge, a little strung out, as though on the edge of hysteria.

Perhaps it was watching him when he crushed the rock, when he was lost in his power. Perhaps it was his eyes, those seconds in which he seemed more a manifestation of his telekinesis, and less...

Human.

There it was: Dave's old fear, back in an unexpected way. All this time, Kurt had hoped to teach Dave to be more in touch with his power... It seemed that success had more consequences than he'd expected.

"But... this is kind of good, right?" Dave asked, only the slightest thread of desperation in his voice. "If I'm more connected with it, I'll know how much harder I need to work to keep it under control, when I need to let it out. That's good, right?"

Kurt managed to nod. "Yeah. Yeah, that is good." He cleared his throat. "The more we know, the better. That connection you have to the power... I have a feeling it'll be crucial." Now that the shock was receding, now that he had time to think... He was being ridiculous. They both were. They'd known all along what Dave's power was capable of; this was nothing new. As his understanding of his power grew, of course he'd feel it more, internalize it more. Hell, this was a _breakthrough_ of sorts, as Dave said. Maybe now that he had a better bond, for lack of a better word, with his abilities, he had a better shot at controlling it than ever.

"Yeah. Great..." Dave yawned. "Hey, Kurt, do you mind if I... have a quick nap? That whole thing really..." His eyelids were already half shut.

"Sure thing. Take a break, Dave." But Dave was asleep before Kurt even finished the sentence, his head resting against the tree trunk, his chest gently rising and falling. He looked content. Peaceful.

Human.

If Kurt hadn't believed his own internal rationalizations before, it was hard not to now, seeing Dave like this. How could he have considered otherwise, even for a second? How could he have ever thought of Dave as anything but a human being? As anything but a friend?

Patting Dave's shoulder, Kurt settled against the tree himself. He looked up at the seemingly endless sheet of blue above them, stretching as far as the eye could see, and thought of tomorrow.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one can be considered a bit of a "breather episode." Overall, it's at least somewhat more concentrated on how Kurt and Dave get along as people. Hope y'all enjoy.

**Last Night at the Old Watering Hole**

Dave and Kurt had only been an occasional visitor to Scandals over the past months. Having to find excuses, not to mention free time, made their nights out less frequent than they might have liked. Plus, both were leery of running into one particular patron again.

Still, they did go when they were able, and when they arrived that sultry summer night, they knew it was probably the last time they'd be there before the move to New York. They'd probably find better places there, more crowded places, more high class places, but none of them would ever be their first, and that alone was a reason for wistful nostalgia.

Dave was playing pool with his regular party, a group of men much like him, burly and hairy, who'd taken a shine to him as a "bear cub." A smattering of applause broke out over the current game, as it often did; Dave was apparently very good with the cue. (Kurt had once asked Dave if he ever... enhanced his game with a little "cheating"; Dave responded with a sly, mysterious smile and a shrug.) Kurt had just finished a rousing round of karaoke and, high on the applause, he strode towards the bar, ready to whet his whistle. He sat at the first free stool he found, and called out, "Diet Coke!"

"Still not hitting the hard stuff?" a wavering voice drawled from next to him. Kurt turned; a figure he'd barely noticed before now was slumped over the bar, turning a glass of melted ice around in his hand. "Your delicate little tummy get upset by the demon rum?"

"Sebastian," Kurt said in distaste. "And I was having such a lovely evening too."

"Don't get your panties in a wad, Princess Celestia," Sebastian said, his entire body wavering in his seat. "I'm not here to win another verbal sparring match with you. I'm here to get really really drunk. Bartender! Another one!" He slammed his glass on the bar so hard that some of the melted ice sloshed onto his hand and sleeve. He barely seemed to notice.

"One more," the bartender said flatly as he snatched the glass away. "Then you're cut off."

"You're no fun." Sebastian raised his voice. "Nobody in this fucking godforsaken town is _any_ fun!" No one so much as looked in his direction.

Kurt squinted in the dim light. If he hadn't figured it out from the distinct lack of venom in his voice and the lack of withering wit in his words, one look at his face would've made it quite clear that Sebastian Smythe was definitely twenty sheets to the wind. His eyes were red and he barely seemed able to keep upright. And this wasn't the "happy enjoying life" kind of drunk either — this was "how much alcohol do I have to consume to forget?" drunk.

Sebastian's bleary eyes seemed to finally focus on Kurt's face. "What?" he slurred. "I'm fine. I'm..." He belched; Kurt got a noseful of partially digested rum and coke. He waved his hand in front of his face in disgust. "Fine."

"Obviously," Kurt replied. He had no idea what was going on with Sebastian, and honestly, he couldn't care less. Now with his drink in hand, maybe he could join Dave for a game of pool...

"They 'disciplined' me." Kurt's attention whirled back to Sebastian. The Warbler had a dark, angry grimace as he raised his newly filled glass in front of his face, staring into it as if searching for some kind of answer.

"What?" He hadn't intended to rise to Sebastian's bait, but now he was honestly a little curious. Not that Sebastian deserved it, of course, but...

"The fucking council. They 'disciplined' me. Just because I overthrew them and took over. The fucking _nerve_ of them!" He tossed off half of his drink in one gulp.

"If you 'overthrew' them..."

"They conspired against me," Sebastian growled in disgust. "They all conspired against me. They went to one of the music teachers, got him appointed as a 'faculty advisor' to the Warblers. First thing he did was boot me and put the council back. And they..." He swallowed the rest of his drink. "They..."

"Disciplined you, yes."

Sebastian nodded grimly; Kurt almost laughed in his face. Maybe he should have. "I've been suspended from the Warblers. For 'conduct unbecoming,' like I'm a fucking Army private. I'm even on some kind of probation with the school because I 'endangered the reputation of Dalton' or some bullshit like that!" His fingers gripped the glass tightly; Kurt almost thought he was going to throw it at something (or someone) before he just dropped it back onto the bar with a clatter. The bartender scowled. "It's bullshit!"

"Oh, I don't know," Kurt said airily. "Some people would say you got what you deserved."

"Fuck off, Snow White." Sebastian tried to rise, but his butt fell back onto the stool again, almost but not quite missing it entirely, much to Kurt's disappointment.

Kurt gave his sweetest, most serene smile. "Ah ah, that's 'Nationals champion Snow White' to you."

Sebastian's face collapsed into a glower. He rose again, only to fall again — this time from a hard shove. Dave stepped next to Kurt. "This guy bothering you?" he asked through gritted teeth.

Sebastian brightened. "Bear Cub! Changed your mind? I think we could both use a little... release."

Dave's brow crinkled. "Uh, how about _no_? Besides, I don't think you're in any condition to do _that_. I don't want to get vomited on."

"Hm, good point. Maybe next time, when I'm a lil' more sober...?"

"There won't be a next time," Kurt cut in. "By the end of the summer, Dave and I will be in New York, and you will be, well, _here_. In fact, you might as well make yourself comfortable, because I doubt you'll _ever_ advance past this level of social achievement."

Sebastian gave a smile that, when sober, would undoubtedly have expressed confidence and amusement — but on a drunk, it just looked painful and frankly embarrassing. "Oh, I don't think I gotta worry about _that_." He shrugged at Dave. "Your loss." He turned back to the bar. "Another one."

"Nope, I told you — you're cut off."

"Shit! Come on, I gotta have a _little_ something..."

"Yeah? How about a nice little something I call 'a cab home'?" He gave a hand signal over the group's shoulders; a bouncer quickly appeared out of seemingly nowhere. "Go home. Get some sleep."

"No, I wanna... Get your hands off... Say, you're not too shabby..." The utterly inebriated Sebastian and the highly amused bouncer vanished out the door.

Dave shook his head. "He's gonna be hella hung over tomorrow."

"Couldn't happen to a nicer guy."

"Fuck, yeah. How about we forget that douche and find a couple of guys to dance with?"

"You...? Dance...? I... I'm so proud of you right now..."

"Hey, I'm a Nationals winning dancer now. Gotta show off my moves _somehow_."

" _So_ proud."

* * *

**Planning Stages  
**

"Of course, the quickest way to get to New York would be to fly. We could have our stuff sent via shipping company or mail."

Dave hesitated before saying, "I'm... I'm not sure I'd be comfortable flying."

"Are you afraid of heights, or...?" Then Kurt mused on the mental image of Dave — telekinetic Dave — being stuck in a metal tube thousands of feet in the sky for hours. "Oh." It wasn't that Kurt wasn't sure — well, pretty sure — that Dave could handle it, but why introduce unnecessary stress when there were other options? "Well, if you don't want to fly, there's the train..."

"Better, but I'm still not sure. I mean, derailments are pretty serious fucking business."

Kurt knew that he probably indulged Dave's fears a bit too often. But then, how many teenagers truly had the reasons to worry that Dave did? "Well, there is another possibility..."

Their eyes met. They spoke as one, in identical hushed tones that approached awe. "Road trip."

"That would be fucking perfect!" Dave cried. "But whose car would we take? Isn't New York, like, a parking nightmare?"

"We could rent a truck. We'd just return it in New York."

"Where would we find someone willing to rent to eighteen year old interstate drivers?"

"My dad knows some people. They could probably even get us a good discount."

"Cool!" Dave's eyes were shining as he got more and more into the idea. "We could stop by tourist traps, eat at trucker diners... It'll be _awesome_!"

Kurt wrinkled his nose. "Joy. Overpriced souvenirs, greasy food and heartburn..."

"Geez, way to bring me down, Mr. Buzzkill."

"I just find other things more attractive, like the scenery."

Dave snorted. "You have seen trees before, haven't you, Kurt? And grass? If you want to see grass, we can just go outside."

"See, that's your problem, Dave: you just have no appreciation for the finer things in life."

"No, what I do appreciate is air conditioning and smooth pavement." His chuckles wore down into a thoughtful look. "Road trip... We should _definitely_ do that. Think our dads would approve?"

"I think so. We're already moving to a strange city, so it's not like they wouldn't have to trust us already. And we'd be doing it together, so we'd be able to watch out for each other."

Dave shook his head. "Me watching out for you... It's funny... Just a couple of years ago..."

"I don't like dwelling on such things," Kurt said. "The way I see it, it doesn't have any relevance to life now. The you right now are a gleek, a Bully Whip, and a friend. That outweighs the old Karofsky by so much it isn't even worth talking about."

"Well... Thanks. I'm a lucky guy, having a friend like you."

"I'm glad you realize that. Anyway, we should buy a map so we can show our proposed route to our fathers."

"Buy a map? What's wrong with Google Maps?"

"What if we run out of battery, or drive somewhere with no signal? Paper doesn't need electricity, Dave."

Dave stared. "Are you for real? You were born this century, right?"

"Technically, I was born _last_ century, and so were you."

"God, you're such a weirdo, Hummel."

"And proud of it."

* * *

**Closing the Barn Door**

"SHIT!"

Kurt swallowed. Slowly, oh so slowly, he turned, and stared at the sunlight streaming in from the hole in the barn wall — a hole that had not existed until half a second previous. A hole less than two feet from Kurt's head. "That... That's okay, Dave. It... happens."

"I... I just wanted to pick it up and float it over to you," Dave whispered in horror. "I didn't mean to..." He fell heavily onto the floor. "I could've killed you..."

"But you didn't. I'm fine," he said as evenly as he could. Goddammit, when would his heart rate go _down_ already? "But I'll ask you not fly me anytime soon." He wasn't exactly sure whether that kind of humor would calm Dave down or just further emphasize the horror that had almost occurred. But damn if his thinking wasn't a little... muddled by the close call. Dave was still slumped on the floor, pale and holding his head in his hands, so it looked like he was going with option 3: not hearing what Kurt was saying at all. "It happened, Dave," Kurt said, his voice loud and firm, as if he were trying to carry a line to the back rows of a theatre. That got Dave's attention; he looked up dully. "It's not good, we both know that, but it happened. The question is, what are we — what are _you_ — going to do about it? Run?"

Dave shook his head. "No... No. I'm through running. I'm tired of running. It doesn't do any fucking good."

Kurt nodded in approval. "Then we deal with it. We establish what your new power baseline is, and work from there until you've adjusted. Just be careful, be conscious, and you won't kill anybody."

"I'll do it. I'll work on it at home every fucking second I'm awake if I have to." Dave's face was set into a kind of grim determination, as if he were about to step onto the football field or hockey rink.

"Good. Um..."

"What? C'mon, Kurt, I know you by now. Just ask."

"Okay." Kurt inhaled. "I've never seen you this... focused before. I've been trying to teach you that for years now, but..."

"You wanna know where it's coming from. And you weren't sure whether to ask 'cause you were afraid I'd go back to normal if I had to think about it."

Kurt blinked. "Um... I wouldn't have exactly put it that way..." _Huh, he_ does _know me after all. Guess this whole friendship thing_ is _a two way street..._

Dave chuckled. "Don't get me wrong, I'm fucking terrified, but if there's one thing you've taught me, it's that fear isn't going to do anybody any good, least of all me. After that... thing with the rock a while back, I got to thinking. A lot. That kind of strength... I could seriously hurt someone with it. I was tempted to just shut down, just drown in self-pity like I usually do. But then I thought about all the shit we've both already been through. You stood up to bullying, powered through huge disappointments, and you're still doing whatever it takes to chase your dreams. I went from a fucking bully closet case coward with slipping grades to an out grad with a B+ average and actual fucking friends. But still kind of a coward."

Kurt sighed dramatically. "And you were doing so well, too."

"That was what people call a 'joke,' Hummel." Dave paused. "Okay, maybe half a joke. My point is, I was thinking about that, and I realized something: I've always had the potential to hurt someone. Long before we started being friends, from the very first day... When I put Jack in the hospital..." He shuddered; so did Kurt, though for a different reason, he was sure. "Even if I ran off to Siberia, I could still hurt people. There are only two ways now I can stop being a ticking time bomb. First is, I could die, but I'm not nearly ready for that." He regarded Kurt for a long moment. "Yet another thing I owe you for."

"I feel that you've already paid me back in full and more, just by being who you are," Kurt replied. There was still a slight tinge of nervousness saying such things ( _Don't lead him on, don't lead him on..._ ), but he'd decided long ago that the benefits outweighed the risks when it came to Dave and his psyche. "Go on."

Dave cleared his throat. "Well, uh... Where was I? Oh, yeah. The other way is for me to take training seriously, get a handle on my power, and actually use it to help people, instead of just thinking about it. I know it took me a lot longer than it should've to realize all this, but I was too busy feeling sorry for myself and wishing that I could change things I can't change. Like I said before, I've got take on my responsibilities like a fucking man." _Like you_. He didn't say it, but the words seemed to pass between them just by looks. "No one else is gonna get hurt because of me. That ends right the fuck now."

Kurt applauded. In different circumstances, between different people, one or both might have taken it or meant it as sarcastic. But here, now, between these two, it was, and was understood as, completely sincere. Dave took a bow as best he could from his seated position. "For me," Kurt said, "I feel a lot better knowing I have a goal. That way I know what I'm working towards, and can really think about how to achieve it. Now it sounds like you've really internalized yours. Hold onto that feeling. That feeling will get you through a lot of hard days and sleepless nights. Focus on it, and nothing can stand in your way."

Of course, with Dave was diving even deeper into his training, that increased the chance that he — that both of them — would realize that Kurt _still_ had no idea what the fuck he was doing, and that he might be doing more harm than good at this point with his blind flailing.

But again, what other choice did they have? He'd just have to do what Dave was doing and step up as best he could. Trying had to count for something... right?

As the two packed up, Kurt caught Dave looking around the barn. "This might be the last time we're here..." he said.

"Yeah. A lot of memories here, huh?"

"You can say that again. Most of them are ones I think I'll have to take to the fucking grave."

"But we share them. That should be of some comfort."

Dave turned to Kurt. "You know what... it kind of is." He chuckled. "I'm really not alone, am I?"

Kurt shook his head with a smile. "I've been telling you that for years."

* * *

**The End of One Road, The Beginning of Another**

"Hello, Paul. Dave." Kurt heard his father's voice out on the porch, causing him to pause on the stairs.

It was happening — it was really happening. Another summer was starting to wane, and all the weeks of planning had come to fruition: the route, the approval of said route by the parents, the rental, the packing (oh god the packing so much packing and he was still leaving behind so much how the hell had he gathered so much STUFF?!). Now it was time for the execution. It was time for the two of them to hit the road to the next stage of their lives.

To New York City.

"Burt," Mr. Karofsky's voice greeted. "This is it, huh?"

"Yeah. Kurt should be out in a minute. He's just grabbing one last bag."

"Hi, Mr. Hummel."

"You ready for the trip, Dave?"

"Yeah. I figure I'll take the first leg; Kurt will switch out with me in the afternoon."

"Sounds good. Why don't you put your stuff in the truck?" There was the sound of footsteps clopping on the porch stairs; after they stopped, his father's voice spoke again. "I didn't think this would be this hard," he said in a low voice.

"I know. And David wouldn't tell me why they'd decided to drive when they could've flown in a fraction of the time..."

"Eh, it's the teenager's need for adventure. Don't tell me you don't have an epic road trip or two under your belt."

"Hah, I actually do. Those were some good times." A sigh. "I thought I was prepared for this. I really wasn't."

"They're growing up."

"Especially this past year... God, there was a time I was really worried about David. But now... I can't believe how much he's changed for the better. He's finally becoming the man I always knew he was capable of being, and... I think I owe a lot of that to your son."

"Kurt has that effect on people. I tell you, I wouldn't be in Congress right now if it weren't for him. Though I'm not sure how grateful I should be for that. You know how they say you shouldn't see how sausage is made?"

A laugh. "I can imagine. How about after the boys leave, you tell me about it over a beer and a game on TV?"

"Sounds good. I think we could both use the distraction."

"We're manly men, right? We don't need to sit around crying just because our boys are going off to college... leaving home..."

"Goddammit, Paul..."

Kurt decided he'd spare them both, and stomped up the rest of the stairs and across the hall as hard as he could. The two voices stopped; when he opened the front door, his father and Dave's were standing casually on the porch, hands in pockets, as if they'd been that way all that time. Down on the street, Dave was loading the last of his belongings into the truck. "Hi, Mr. Karofsky."

"Hello, Kurt. You ready?"

"That I am." Dave joined the three on the porch. "We should get going if we're going to make our first checkpoint by lunch."

Dave rolled his eyes. "Checkpoint... God. This isn't a road rally, you know. If we get there too early or too late, we just call Rachel before we arrive. Simple."

"We made a plan," Kurt said irritably. "What's the point of it if we don't actually _use_ it?"

"It's a _plan_ , not the Ten Commandments. We can do whatever the fuck we want. It's a _road trip_."

"Really, David, you're missing the point..."

"Now, now, boys," Mr. Karofsky said, laughing. "No point in killing each other before you even get on the road."

"Right," Kurt's father drawled. "You'll have plenty of time to argue when you're driving. Then at least there are lots of places to quietly bury a body."

"You hear that, David?" Kurt asked pointedly.

"Oh, _you'd_ be the one to kill _me_?"

"As if there'd be any doubt?"

Fortunately, any further argument was interrupted by Carole coming out onto the porch. "Oh, good, I caught you!" She hugged Kurt tightly. "Have a safe trip. Finn sends his love."

Kurt hugged back just as tight; she could never replace his own mother, of course, but damn if she didn't at least make a great effort. "Thanks. Thanks for everything."

"Of course. You're family."

"You call now, son," Burt Hummel rumbled, saving Kurt from having to stumble through a response that could only include tears. "I could get away with not calling home when I was your age, but you don't have any excuse."

"I will."

As the two Hummel men embraced, Carole slipped around them and hugged a very surprised Dave. "Have a good trip," she said to him. "Thank you for being such a good friend to Kurt."

"I—" Kurt had no idea exactly what memories were flashing through Dave's mind at that moment, but he was pretty sure he knew _who_ was in them. A glance at Mr. Karofsky, at his sad eyes, told Kurt that the elder man, on the other hand, probably had all the pieces of the puzzle. Finally, Dave's arms wrapped awkwardly around Carole's shoulders. "Thanks, Mrs. Hud— Hummel."

"Good journey to you, Kurt," Mr. Karofsky said, offering a hand, which Kurt took and firmly shook (as behind him the same gesture was reflected between Dave and Burt Hummel). "And my thanks to you too. I appreciate everything you've done for David."

"It was my pleasure, Mr. Karofsky. He's done just as much for me, so it was no problem." He could tell Dave wanted to object; fortunately, he was smart enough to keep his mouth shut.

Kurt glanced behind him only once as he and Dave went down the walk; the three adults were watching them. Carole was the most open with her emotions as she waved. The two men were, of course, wearing studiously blank masks, but from their little facial twitches, he could tell what they were really thinking.

Partly because he was having a few of the same thoughts himself.

He climbed into the passenger seat while Dave slid behind the wheel. As Dave started the engine, they both looked out the passenger side window. The tableau on the porch was still the same, only... more. More what? Just... more. Carole waved, as did Mr. Karofsky. The two waved back. Kurt nodded to his dad one last time.

"Call!" Burt Hummel barked.

"I will!" Kurt yelled.

The truck pulled away. Kurt watched the house recede in the rearview mirror, even though the angle didn't allow him to see a single person on the porch. He watched until his home, then his entire neighborhood, vanished from sight.

"We're doing it." Kurt turned to Dave; his eyes were focused on the road, as they should be, but Kurt wasn't really sure how much he was _seeing_. "We're... Shit." He wiped his eyes on his wrist.

"The rest of our lives," Kurt said, struggling to keep his own emotions in check. "This is it. Official adulthood. Kind of."

"Fuck, I'm glad you're here," Dave burst out. "I... I don't know how I'd handle this if it weren't for you. I thought that once I had the chance to leave Lima, I'd fucking run and never look back. But..."

"But the reality is different," Kurt finished quietly. "You remember all the things that are familiar. That you liked."

Dave nodded. "Though I wouldn't have a lot of that if it weren't for you. What you told my dad is bullshit — I owe you more than I can ever repay."

"Well, then, I know what I'm going to do during this road trip: persuade you otherwise."

"You mean talk to me until I get tired of listening and agree just to shut you up?"

"Oh, _that's_ your modus operandi? For that, _I'm_ going to pick where we stop for lunch."

"Oh, god, I just should've kept my fucking mouth shut."

"Lesson learned too late, Dave."

The easy banter didn't erase all of the emotion, of course. But it helped.

* * *

**Scenes From the Road**

"You're serious? You're still an atheist?"

It had come up (Kurt could never remember how) on I-71 somewhere southwest of Akron.

"Yes, I am."

"But... What about me?"

"Not _everything_ is about you, Dave," Kurt said with a chuckle. "But seriously, as far as I'm concerned, you don't have much relevance to the whole God question. Just because more things are possible than I thought doesn't mean that _anything_ is possible. Unlike Christianity, at least you're internally consistent. For all we know, all the miracles of the Bible might've been caused by people with powers like you."

Dave stared out the windshield thoughtfully. "Huh, I never thought about that."

"I'm actually surprised you still take Christianity seriously, considering..." Kurt gulped. "Dave, I'm sorry..."

"No, no... Don't feel like you have to fucking walk on eggshells every time mothers come up. Mom is basically out of my life, and I've accepted that." The question wasn't whether the statement was a lie — the question was whether it was somewhat, partially, or mostly a lie. But this was hardly the time to prod to find out. "But I was raised in the church for most of my life. It's kind of hard to let go, you know?"

"Of course." Kurt watched the scenery — at the moment a lot of flat fields and billboards — whiz by. "So what do you think now?"

"About God?"

"Yeah."

Dave exhaled. "I think... if He does exist, and He's not some kind of fucking sadist... There's a reason He made me this way, and anyone who thinks they know better than Him can just sit down and shut the fuck up."

"Healthy attitude to have."

"Thank you. Another thing I learned from you."

"Oh, not entirely. If you had, you'd be fully converted to the cause of the Flying Spaghetti Monster by now."

"You just can't stand that you're not an atheist messiah, can you, Hummel?"

"Atheist Messiah... I should get business cards printed up with that. Excellent idea, Dave!"

"Oh, god, what did I start?"

* * *

"I tell you, we have plenty of time!"

"But Kurt..."

"No buts! We're stopping at the outlet mall, and that's final!"

"What happened to 'oh no, I can't take half my wardrobe with me'?"

"We're in _Pennsylvania_ now, Dave. It's a completely different world of fashion here! I can't miss this opportunity — when will I get one like it again? You can just play on your phone or stay in the truck if you really want."

"And do _I_ get to stop somewhere _I_ want?"

"... Maybe."

"God, you're so bossy."

"Keep that up, and I'll _buy you something too_."

"No! I'll behave, I swear!"

"Good man."

* * *

"Dave, I have to go to the bathroom."

"Well, there's a rest stop in three miles..."

"I'm not sure I'll make it that far."

"Seriously? I can pull over and—"

"So I can go on the side of the road? Practically in full view of the entire freeway? Are you crazy?"

"What, you'd rather go in your pants?"

"Of course not! Can't you do something?"

"Like what? Break the sound barrier? I'm a telekinetic, not fucking Scotty! Just three more miles. You can do it."

"Fine. Distract me."

"With what?"

"I don't know! Just talk about something! Anything!"

"Okay, uh... Oh! Chris Pine is way hotter than Zachary Quinto."

"What?! Are you insane, David? First of all, did you see him in _Heroes_? Secondly..."

By the time they actually arrived at the rest stop, Kurt stayed to argue for a full half minute before running to the bathroom.

* * *

"You know what one of the best things about New York, Dave?"

"Wha?" Dave mumbled through a mouth full of burger and bun.

"The cuisine. Imagine a city with every block full of everything from fine dining to the best hole in the wall joints on the planet." Kurt sipped at his soda. "Which means that you'll be able to eat something other than burgers and spaghetti."

Dave swallowed his food before responding, which was quite fortunate for him. "What the fuck is wrong with burgers and spaghetti?"

"Nothing, if you don't mind being an uncultured plebeian for the rest of your life. What about sushi..."

"Raw fish? Pass."

"Indian food..."

"Do they serve monkey brains like in _Temple of Doom_?"

"Fresh seafood..."

"I ain't eating anything that stares back at me."

Kurt threw down his napkin dramatically. "That does it. Columbia may suck you into its world of plentiful dorm cafeteria food, but I won't stand by and let a friend subsist on bland American food when a culinary universe lies just outside his door. Once we're settled, I'm dragging you out to dinner regularly, and you're going to eat whatever I order for you. Got it?"

"Shit, what are you, my mom? What now, you're going to tell me that this is for my own good, mister?"

"You said it, I didn't. But it is."

"All right, _fine_. As long as you don't take advantage of me and make me eat anything really disgusting..."

"I would never!"

"... And you pay."

"Nice try."

"Damn."

* * *

"Dave, did you just...?"

"Yep."

Kurt stared at the tree, still shedding dirt and leaves, hovering over their heads. It wasn't a very big tree, but it was _still a tree_.

"And why did you...?"

"I... I had to."

They had stopped while passing through Moshannon State Forest, and though Dave grumbled, he did look up at the grand, stately trees in some awe. Kurt had urged Dave deeper in along a short trail, and as soon as the main roads vanished from sight, Dave had stopped. It took only a second's concentration, and the ripping of roots through packed soil, to produce... well, this.

Kurt looked up and down the trail; Dave was too busy staring up at the tree as it flipped, rolled, and spun above him. There was no one around, and the place they'd parked was completely empty, but who knew when a ranger or some trail walker would come by... "Dave, put it back. Now."

The tree drifted higher, almost breaking the canopy above. "Back? I don't think I can get it back exactly like it was..."

"Don't care. Just... put it back! Now!"

Dave sighed. "Okay, okay." The tree fell — though it was a controlled fall — end over end until its roots rested back into the patch of soil in which they had dug in. Gently, it tipped over, landing onto the forest floor in a position that would have been natural had it fallen by itself. "Happy?"

"Come on." Kurt stalked back up the trail, ignoring Dave's calls as he followed. When they were back in the parking area, he held out his hand, not even looking in Dave's direction. "Keys." They landed in his outstretched palm. Kurt was glad that Dave had actually thrown them; if he'd used his power then, Kurt might not have been responsible for his actions. He climbed into the driver's seat and started the engine. Dave got into the passenger seat; barely a second after he slammed the door shut, Kurt roared back onto the road, tires screeching.

It was a couple of miles of white knuckled driving (not out of any nerves, but because Kurt was clutching the steering wheel that tightly) before Dave spoke. "I'm sorry."

"For god's sake, Dave, you're a smart man! You _have_ to know how reckless that was!"

"I know, it was stupid..."

"It was _extremely_ stupid! Sure, there wasn't anyone around, but there could very well have been someone approaching! And what would we have done then, huh? Would you have dropped the tree on their head to protect your secret?"

"You know I wouldn't have..."

"Then we would've been _really_ screwed!" Kurt huffed, honking his horn as he passed a driver doing at least twenty under the speed limit. "Speed up, grandma!" he barked out the closed window. He gritted his teeth. "Why, Dave? Just... explain that to me! _Why_ would you do something so idiotic?"

"I... I just gave in."

It took a minute of thinking to understand. "The urge to use your telekinesis? You were feeling it again?" He saw Dave nod out of the corner of his eye.

"We were alone, and out in the wilderness, and it... the power was just calling to me..."

"We've been over this before, Dave: your power isn't alive. It doesn't think. That was you. _You_ wanted to use the power."

"I know, I just... All I could think about was fucking telekinesis, about making the whole fucking forest _dance_ just by willing it to. It was like there was this voice in my head just screaming at me, let go, let go..." Kurt managed to catch a glimpse of Dave's face: haunted, lost in his memories of that feeling. "And I did. I just... I let it out. I felt like if I didn't, I was going to... I don't know." He leaned against the window glass, sighing.

By now, Kurt was thinking more clearly. He echoed Dave's sigh. "That was still reckless and stupid."

"I know."

"You need to work more on relaxation and meditation."

"Yeah." Dave's voice was dull, listless.

"It's not going to get any easier to resist once you're at college in a big city."

"Yeah."

"And as your power gets stronger, it'll happen more and more. You need to figure out other ways to cut loose."

"Yeah."

"And obviously, I'll help with that. Just... tell me next time, okay? Tell me when you feel that way. I can help, but I need to know what's going on."

"Okay." Dave stared out at the passing forests — or maybe nothing at all. "I'm sorry, Kurt."

"It's you I'm worried about, you know. You're the one who's in the most danger every time you use your telekinesis."

"I know. You deserve better than to worry all the time about a shithead like me."

"Perhaps, but I do, because when I care about someone, it takes a lot more than one bad decision to get me to stop. Keep making bad decisions without apology or attempt to change, then I start to wonder. But you've got a pretty good track record, so I'm willing to work with you more. If you'll work with me."

"Fuck, yeah," Dave said almost at once. "Whatever you say, I'll do."

"Dave, as much as I've always wanted a servant, you're not one, so stop acting like being submissive to me will help or make up for anything. I want you to respect yourself as much as you do me." The idea caught in his mind like a fishhook. "In fact, I think that will help a lot: gaining self respect. I think you should start seeing a counselor as soon as you're settled in at Columbia. If nothing else, having an even keel will help you control the power better. But I want you to see just how much the rest of the world would miss you if you got caught. Look at your Facebook wall sometime. Look at all the people who consider themselves your friends. Next time you feel the urge coming over you, think about who's depending on you to maintain control. Think about your dad, who sacrificed so much for you." If he was going too far, fuck it. He was sick of Dave believing he was some kind of burden, subconsciously or not. If he was right — if that belief was at least partly behind some of his control issues — then it had to be faced head on.

Besides, Dave the man deserved a lot better, didn't he?

"So many people love you, Dave," he continued. "And a lot of them are people who don't give that easily. Ask yourself what that means about you. I know I sound like a TV psychiatrist or something, but this is important. You are important, to a lot of people, and you need to get that through your skull. All right?"

The responding silence stretched for so long that Kurt began to believe that Dave had fallen asleep on him. He was about to turn and yell when Dave finally replied, "All right. I..." He hiccuped. "I'll try."

"Good. Well, we still have a long trip ahead of us, so maybe you can text Rachel, let her know our ETA."

"Sure." There was a pause. "Kurt..."

"I know. You're welcome. I wouldn't keep on doing this if I didn't think you were capable of being better. You've come a long way already; don't forget that."

"Right." Dave drew out his phone, and Kurt exhaled.

There was almost two hundred miles still separating them from New York City. They still had a long way to travel.

But the weather was good and the road was straight, so it somehow didn't seem all that bad.

* * *

Kurt had just about finished filling the gas tank when Dave strode out of the convenience store, a Slim Jim sticking out of his mouth. "Mmf?" he asked, offering the bag. Kurt shook his head.

The next several dozen miles after the forest had been a lot easier. Dave had gotten in some meditation time, and looked up Columbia's counseling services. Slowly, the tension thawed, and the two were back to judging the drivers on the freeway around them and mocking Pennsylvania rural radio stations.

"So what'd you get?" Kurt asked once they were on the road again.

"Uh, jerky, orange soda, chips..."

"You know that we're not all that far from New York now."

"Hey, I'm a growing boy. I need my sugar and preservatives."

Kurt laughed, but the joke did trigger a thought... "Where you think your power gets its energy?"

"Hmm?" Dave asked through a swig of soda.

"I mean, do you think it uses energy like physical activity does? So you have to eat more to make up the difference?"

Dave swallowed. "What, are you saying I'm a pig, Hummel?"

"Of course not! But you and Finn do share certain... qualities when it comes to the dinner table. I noticed it the first time you came over. I thought it was because you were an athlete, but..."

"... But maybe I'm feeding my telekinesis?" Dave seemed to ponder the point; he popped a Dorito into his mouth and crunched, much too loudly. Kurt's grip on the steering wheel tightened again. "I dunno. But it is kind of an interesting thought." He offered the bag; Kurt waved it off.

"Be that as it may, it's only increased my determination to expand your culinary horizons. If you're feeding your telekinesis, you might as well feed it right."

"Or maybe if you force me to eat enough sushi, I'll only be able to manipulate fish."

"And you say _I'm_ weird?"

"Takes one to know one, Kurt."

* * *

"Oh God, oh God..." Kurt almost sprinted out of the rest stop bathroom. "It's even worse than the last one." He ran his fingers through his hair. "I can't do my business in there. It's absolutely _disgusting_."

"Come on, Kurt," Dave said, thrusting his head through the men's room door. "It can't be that— JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!" He recoiled, staggering back a full three stride lengths. "When's the last time someone fucking cleaned in there? The fucking Civil War?!"

"Either that, or the last ones to use it were a pack of diarrhetic wolverines." Kurt's intestines audibly growled.

"Do you want me to..." Dave's voice lowered. "Y'know, float you above...?"

He was tempted. Oh, God, was he tempted. But... Kurt shook his head. "No sense risking your life over my vomit reflex. Besides, I'm not sure I'd be able to... go in that kind of state anyway."

"Think you can last until we can find a fast food place or gas station?"

"I think so. I hope so." They climbed back into the truck. "Driving should help." He started up the engine, and they pulled away. In the rearview mirror, he saw an elderly man shuffle towards the very bathrooms they'd just retreated from. He felt a pang of pity.

"Okay, how about another distraction, then? We've gone over Pine versus Quinto..."

"Which you're still wrong about, by the way."

"Then how about Hot or Not? Lemme start... Uh, Ryan Reynolds?"

"Hot. Definitely. Chris Pratt?"

"Who?"

"He's on _Parks and Rec_."

"Never watched it. Just a sec." Five seconds on his phone later: "Huh. Not bad."

"Oh? I thought he'd be just your type."

"No, he and I _are_ kind of the same type. _My_ type is pretty different from me, as you know—" He cut himself off with a cough.

Kurt cleared his own throat. "Okay, how about Benedict Cumberbatch?"

"Sherlock Holmes? God, no! He's fucking weird looking!"

"What?!" Kurt wasn't sure to look down his nose or explode into fanboy rage. He chose the former as being more dignified. "Bite your tongue," he said coldly. "The man is perfection."

"He's all pale and his face is, like, way too lean."

" _Perfection_." He sniffed. "I'm not sure I want to play this game with you anymore, if your sense of aesthetics is that twisted."

"Seriously? You _really_ think he's good looking?"

"Just _look_ at pictures of him, David!"

"I am! He _still_ reminds me of those silent guys from _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_."

"Oh, it is _so_ on now, Karofsky! I'll have you know..."

Once more, Kurt came within a few feet of missing an exit to a bathroom.

* * *

Dave was looking up at the buildings in awe as the truck inched its way through the streets of New York City. Kurt smiled; he'd forgotten that Dave had never been far outside Ohio before. Being able to see the city again through the eyes of someone new... It was exhilarating. It only emphasized that he'd made the right decision to leave Lima while he still could.

"We're finally here..." Dave said under his breath.

"Yup. Rachel's already found an apartment; we're going straight there. You can crash on the couch until your dorms open."

"It's... I watched TV shows set here, but... It's so different when you're seeing it in person..." Bright colors flashed across Dave's face, his eyes, as he gazed out the window.

They double parked in front of the address Rachel texted them. She was sitting on the stoop as they pulled up; the instant the truck ground to a halt, she was on her feet, running towards them.

"You're here!" She tackled them both in a double embrace that almost knocked even Dave off his feet. "Finally!" She pecked Kurt on the cheek. "Finally our lives can begin."

"Yeah." He looked up at Dave, then at the night sky, still light from a hundred million florescent street lamps and advertising signs. "Our lives begin right now..."


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMFG, I can't believe I didn't catch the repeated chapter. Guess that's what I get for losing track of chapters like that. Sorry. :P

**Britney 2.0**

"A toast." Rachel raised her wine glass. "To us. To a bright future."

"To us." The three glasses chimed as they gently rang against each other.

Dave looked around as he sipped his wine. "This place is actually starting to look like a home, now that you don't have boxes all over."

Kurt had to agree. With Dave having already started his freshman year at Columbia, the amount of help he was able to give unpacking dropped precipitously. But with a little hard work (and a lot of nagging for Rachel to pitch in, since she, after all, was going to share the furniture), the apartment was now fully furnished and unpacked.

"Pity you have to live in the dorms, David," Rachel remarked as she snapped the mozzarella strings off another slice of pizza. "We could use another roommate, and you'd have certainly been a welcome one."

Kurt couldn't help but feel warm inside, above and beyond the wine. It was just another reminder of how far Dave had come, how much better his life had become — how much better _he_ had made his own life. Dave blushed — again above and beyond the wine. "Thanks, Rachel," he said. "That means a lot. Maybe in a year or two, if you still have the room..."

"Of course!" The trio ate and drank in silence for a few minutes. "How's Finn?" Rachel asked suddenly. Kurt had to remind himself to swallow his mouthful of pizza and not choke on it, thank you.

"Last I heard, he was doing okay," Dave said carefully. "He doesn't have a lot of time or freedom at Basic to talk or text, though."

"Has he—?" _Has he talked about me?_

"He..." Dave put down his glass and exhaled. "He said that the Army is a huge commitment, and... He isn't sure when he'll be home next."

Kurt groaned inwardly. Oh, Finn, Finn... He thought he was being noble, but seriously, could he _not_ see how this "hands off" approach could very well end in disaster for everyone involved? And for both of them to put Dave in the middle like this...! He made a mental note to talk to each of them when he had the chance. If Rachel and Finn were going to deal with their separation, it was better for all involved if they did it directly, and not go through an innocent intermediary. Still, as long as nothing happened to complicate matters...

(Later, Kurt would kick himself for tempting fate like that.)

There was a knock on the door. Kurt scrambled to his feet. "I'll get it." Gratefully stretching out his legs to get the prickly feeling out of them, he strode to the door and opened it. A young man (an incredibly gorgeous young man) stood on the other side, hands in his pockets.

"Uh, hi. Is Rachel...?"

"Brody!" she called out from the living room. "Wonderful timing! Come on in!"

With a small nod, the man slid past Kurt with a casualness and familiarity that set off all kinds of alarm bells in Kurt's brain. He closed the door and returned to the living room; the young man was accepting a glass of wine from Rachel.

"This..." She nodded towards Kurt. "... Is my dear friend from high school and new roommate, Kurt Hummel. And this..." She nodded towards Dave. "... Is another dear friend and Columbia University student David Karofsky. Kurt, David, this is Brody Weston. He's a fellow student at NYADA."

"Hey," Brody said with a wave and a charming smile. "It's great to finally meet you both; Rachel's been talking my ear off about you two."

"Has she?" Kurt said in a strained voice. "Well, she... hasn't said much about you."

"Oh, I know, and I'm sorry," Rachel said. "But you know the life of an aspiring star at a new school, taking the first major step of her career... I just hadn't had the time."

"So..." Dave began, "you're a... friend of Rachel's?"

Brody nodded. "We bonded over moisturizing routines."

Dave's forehead crinkled in puzzlement. "What?"

"Don't mind him," Kurt said airily. "He doesn't understand the necessity of quality skin care."

The others laughed (with the exception of Dave, who shot a glare at Kurt). "He's been showing me the ropes at NYADA," Rachel said. "He's been quite helpful. Kurt, when you get in, you should take advantage of his experience."

"Always happy to help." Brody gave Rachel a _look_. Kurt's spine immediately straightened. His and Dave's eyes met, and an entire exchange took place without a word being uttered.

_Did you see that?_

_Yes._

_Does that mean what I think it means?_

_I'm afraid so._

Finn Hudson's stepbrother and Finn Hudson's friend broke their eye lock and turned back towards Rachel and Brody, who were laughing over some NYADA in-joke. Somehow, Kurt had no doubt that the thought going through his mind was also going through Dave's.

_We are so screwed._

* * *

**Makeover**

"Breathe, Kurt."

Kurt knew he was wearing down the carpet, but he couldn't help it. "I am breathing! That's the problem! I'm breathing much too much and oh God I can't stop...!"

Dave arched an eyebrow. "I hope you don't. I'd rather you be alive."

Dave's dorm room was cramped and strewn with the debris of not one, but two eighteen year olds. Fortunately, there was enough room between the discarded clothes, strewn papers, and odd beer can to pace in. Kurt needed to pace. He needed to let out some of this frantic energy. God, was this what Dave felt like when his power was building up? How did he _stand_ it...?

"You'll do fine," Dave said reassuringly.

"You said that about my NYADA audition, and look how _that_ turned out!"

"Just because you didn't get in doesn't mean that you weren't great," Dave replied calmly, and okay, he had a point. But still...

"What if... What if my best just isn't good enough? What if I've just been chasing a mirage all this time? What if...?" He looked around for some place to flop down dramatically. The floor was right out, as was the roommate's side of the room, and Dave was already sitting at his desk chair. His bed was unmade and had books scattered all over it, but it would have to do. He flopped down onto it dramatically, sending at least two textbooks sliding to the floor with a muffled thump.

The door creaked open. A crew cut young man wearing a Matt Hasselbeck jersey charged into the room, tossing his backpack onto his bed. "Man, remind me to never schedule morning classes ever again as long as I live." Only then did he notice the third person in the room. "Oh, hey, Kurt."

"Hey, Randy," Kurt muttered. Dave's roommate wasn't a bad sort, not at all — sharp but not arrogant, easygoing but not lazy, and, to both Dave's and Kurt's relief, raised in a liberal and accepting household. In fact, it had been Randy who gave the most enthusiastic thumbs up to Dave's hanging his rainbow flag (a going away present from Mr. Karofsky) onto the wall above his bed — and given that Kurt was part of that decision, that was saying something.

Randy cast a questioning glance at Dave. "What's with him?"

"Ignore him. He's just nervous over this music video he's doing for Vogue."

"Did you just say 'ignore him'?" Kurt barked in outrage. "I came over here to vent legitimate concerns, and you're telling him to ignore me?!"

"See what I mean?" Dave said to Randy with a smirk. Kurt fought the urge to throw everything within arm's reach at him.

"Ah, you'll do fine, man," Randy said as he sat at his desk and opened his laptop. "They hired you, didn't they? Hating your video would be like them admitting they made a mistake, and I bet people who work at those kinds of places don't like to say they made mistakes."

"I keep telling him that, but he won't listen."

"Yes, if there were any justice in the world, I'd be editor in chief already," Kurt said, crossing his arms and legs. "But the world isn't fair, and if I'm going to succeed at this internship, I have to do more than just 'be myself'. I have to _dazzle_. I have to _shine_."

Dave rolled his eyes. "Seriously, Kurt, you're going to blow them all away. So you might as well stop worrying, and—" Dave's phone, which lay on his desk, burst out in a signal. "Oh, hey, that's your stepbrother." He snatched up the phone and tapped at the screen.

The mention of Finn was a better distraction than anything Dave or Randy could've come up with. "What'd he say? How's he doing?"

"Just give me a sec. He..." Dave paled.

"What?" Kurt was nearly bouncing on the bed.

"He... was discharged from the Army."

"What?!" Kurt's screech caused Randy to rip off his headphones and turn in their direction. Dave's phone went off again.

"And... he's coming here next week. To see Rachel."

Dave and Kurt stared at each other. "Shit," Kurt whispered. Dave just nodded grimly.

"What's wrong?" Randy asked with a frown. "I thought this guy was a friend of yours."

"It's... complicated," Dave sighed with a shake of his head.

"Man, from what you've told me of your life, it's _all_ complicated."

"You have no idea."

Kurt could only nod in agreement.

For the next week, the two entered into intense discussions about what to do. The key, they decided, was timing. Just letting Finn waltz in whenever he felt like it was asking for trouble. They agreed that Dave would keep tabs on Finn and prepare him as best he could while Kurt would do the same for Rachel. It would be like teasing a great white, but it was better than standing by and doing nothing, and letting the inevitable explosion consume them too.

On the day Finn was due to visit, Kurt sat Rachel down at the apartment and talked with her as seriously and openly as he could about respect, honesty, knowing what you want, and so on. By the time he was done (and Rachel had stopped freaking out over Finn's imminent arrival), he felt like he'd actually been listened to.

"You're right," she said — two of Kurt's favorite words. "I'll talk to him. I'll figure out what I want, and I'll go for it, just like I have with the stage. I owe myself that much — and I owe Finn and Brody that much too."

Kurt nodded approvingly. "Good. I know you'll make the right decision for yourself." At least, he hoped so. But then, at their age, did they really know what they wanted, what would make for the best future for themselves? All they could do was make the best decisions they could, and hope that they, and those they cared about, wouldn't get too hurt in the process.

"Ohmigod," Rachel gasped.

"What?"

"I completely forgot — Brody's coming over!"

Kurt leaped to his feet. "Call him. Text him. Do whatever you need to — just postpone or cancel until you and Finn have had a chance to talk."

"But... what do I tell him?"

"Remember lesson number three?"

Rachel sighed. "Honesty."

"Right." Kurt left the apartment and took the elevator down. Finn and Dave would be talking outside; hopefully they were having the same kind of mature, reasoned discussion he and Rachel just had.

Dave's voice penetrated the front doors as he stepped out of the elevator. "Dude... Answer the fucking question or I'll fucking punch you in the nuts."

_Of course._

"What the fuck do you want?" Dave continued. They were sitting on the stoop, their backs to the doors, so neither saw or heard Kurt as he approached. "You're the one who let her go, and now you want her back? So why'd you let her go in the first place?"

"I..." Finn shook his head. "I just wanted to be good enough for her..."

There were a lot in those words, Kurt knew — much more than they expressed on the surface. Dave, for his part, seemed to know that too. (Kurt tried not to intrude on the friendship between Dave and Finn, so he still didn't know a lot about it; he was never sure if this was a good thing or not.) "Okay," Dave said in a gentler tone. "So what, you figured you'd become a better man, then come back, and she'd still be waiting for you? She would've, if you'd just _asked_ her to..."

"That's the thing! I wasn't sure whether I'd come back at all!" Kurt's heart stopped. There it was: that haunting, nagging thought that had dogged his mind ever since he heard about Finn's enlistment, finally put into audible words. "Remember, I know what that's like, even if it did turn out to be a lie. How could I do that to Rachel? I was planning on being in the Army for the long haul. How could I ask her to wait for me, when I knew there'd be a chance I'd have to go to Iraq or Afghanistan and die over there? I couldn't do that to her." His next words came out in a whisper. "I couldn't."

Kurt couldn't have spoken if he'd wanted to.

"Shit, dude..." Dave gripped Finn's shoulder tightly. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah, well... I still probably could've handled it better. I see your point about trying to make decisions for her."

Dave nodded. "If there's one thing I've learned from Kurt, it's that lying just never gets you anywhere. I lied to myself a long time about being gay, and look where that got me."

Finn sighed. "I guess... Rach and I have to talk."

"I think you two have a lot to talk about."

"Thanks, man. I... I really appreciate you being there for me. No offense to Kurt, but I don't think I could've talked about this with him. He's my brother... There are just some things you don't feel right talking about with family, you know?"

"Yeah. No problem, man. Any time you need me." The two young men rose. "Well," Dave said, "good luck. I hope everything turns out okay."

"Yeah. Me too."

Kurt quietly turned on his heel and sprinted for the stairwell. He made it inside and shut the door just as he heard the front doors open. Sneaking a careful peek, he saw his brother and friend enter the elevator, arms wrapped around each other's shoulders as if each were holding the other upright.

In a way, he thought as the elevator doors slid shut, they probably were.

* * *

**The Breakup**

Not long afterward, Finn returned to Lima.

"New York was never my dream. Not like it was for you and Rachel."

"So what is your dream?" Kurt asked as he broke the embrace between them.

Finn smiled, warm and bright. "That's what I'm gonna find out."

The breakup was amicable — or as amicable as it could be among two high school sweethearts. He didn't ask either of them the details of what had been spoken between the two of them, alone in the apartment while Kurt and Dave slipped out to a corner bar. It would've been cruel. But he did overhear a snatch of conversation between Finn and Dave as the latter prepared to accompany the former to the subway for his flight back to Ohio.

"Are you going to wait for her?" Dave asked.

"As long as it takes," was the reply.

Rachel moped for about a week before reconnecting with Brody again. When that happened, it was as though the floodgates opened; he became a mainstay at the apartment, present more than even Dave. "I don't know what to think," Kurt said to Dave one afternoon over coffee. "I mean, Finn's my brother, but I was never sure what to think about him and Rachel to begin with..."

"Hey, maybe he'll find someone new back in Lima," Dave said with a shrug, "and you'll love her just as much as Rachel. Anyway, I figure it's none of my business, as long as they're happy. I mean, it's not like it'll affect us any."

That was where he was wrong.

"You absolutely must date!" Rachel declared one evening. "Both of you!"

Kurt and Dave stared. "What?" they asked almost in unison.

"I refuse to be the only one happily seeing someone. You're in New York City," she said insistently, "a well known gay mecca, and neither of you have taken advantage of your new surroundings!"

"That's because I'm working my butt off at Vogue practically for free," Kurt said, "not to mention preparing to try to get into NYADA again."

"I'm busy with school," Dave added. "And..." He trailed off.

This time, both Kurt and Rachel focused their attention on him. "And...?" Kurt asked.

"I... I've never been on a real date." Dave twiddled his thumbs, staring down at them as if finding their movement fascinating. "I mean, who'd want to date—?" He froze.

_Someone who looks like me? A dangerous telekinetic freak?_ Kurt wasn't sure how Dave was intending to finish his sentence, but it was surely not in a way he'd approve of.

"David," Rachel said imperiously, "I've noticed that your self-esteem seems to be somewhat... lacking at times. You could stand to be more like myself and Kurt. We could never stand on a Broadway stage for an audition, let alone a performance, without a healthy dose of ego."

"Healthy?" Dave muttered under his breath. Kurt hid his smirk behind his hand.

"There are a disproportionately large number of LGBT students at NYADA," she continued, heedless of Dave's remark. "Perhaps you and Kurt could find a suitable date there. Or perhaps you, David, could join a LGBT organization at Columbia."

"You know," Kurt said, "that isn't a bad idea." He turned to Dave. "I mean, you're out, but you still don't have a lot of experience in the world of gay." He put air quotes between the last three words; Dave grinned. "Maybe it would do you some good to ease into it."

Dave stroked his chin. "Maybe. I'll think seriously about it."

"That's all I ask," Rachel said primly. "You too!" she snapped at Kurt, causing him to jump. "I want my friends to experience the joys of burgeoning relationships that I'm experiencing!"

Two things occurred to Kurt later about the whole conversation. First, Rachel had never once suggested that Kurt and Dave date each other, not even when they were all back in Lima with much fewer options. Whether it was because of some lingering prejudice against Dave, or an assumption that they would've been dating already had they been mutually interested, or whether she was actually enlightened enough to realize that not all gay men were attracted to all other gay men, he couldn't say. He was grateful whatever the case to avoid the potential awkwardness.

Second, he had absolutely no idea whether Dave was ready to, or even wanted to, date. He decided to ask during an impromptu meditation session while Rachel was at class. "I thought I was supposed to be _reducing_ my stress levels, Hummel," Dave cracked weakly.

"Dave..."

"I don't know, okay? I mean, knowing you're gay is one thing, but actually being with a guy is another. Especially when..."

"Especially when you have to hide such a big part of yourself from anyone you date."

Dave nodded; the coffee table lifted itself off the floor, did a 180 degree turn, and settled back into its original place. "I know Rachel means well, but with my power..."

"It complicates everything, doesn't it?"

"It sure as fuck does. I just wish... I just wish there were someone else out there who understood. I mean directly. Someone else with powers. Someone else I could talk to about this whole fucking thing without worrying about being shipped off to some lab. Someone who's actually _lived_ what I've lived through."

Kurt nodded sadly. "That's something I wish you had too."

"It just makes me think, you know?" Dave rose to his feet and began pacing the room. "I mean, I've talked about this with you before, but being here makes me wonder even more: what the fuck am I doing here?"

"In New York?"

"In college. I'm gonna get a degree, sure, but then what am I gonna do? Work on weekdays, do telekinetic shit on the weekends? How does that even _work_?" He paused by the windows, looking out at the silent buildings beyond. "I want to do something with this power, but I have no idea how. I want to have a normal life, but I have no idea how. What the fuck is left?"

Kurt rose and joined his friend by the windows. "I wish I had an answer," he said quietly. "I wish I could tell you what to do. But I don't know the future any more than you do, and besides, it's your life. But I do want to suggest one thing: college, even for kids without psychic abilities, is a time of transition, where you actually _find out_ what you want to do with the rest of your life, and how you want to live it. I think you should just get more life experience and see where it takes you."

"What the hell can college do to teach me how to use fucking telekinesis?"

"It can't. But it will teach you about yourself, and life. I think if you figure that out... The rest will follow. Or at least follow more easily."

Dave's broad shoulders heaved. "I guess... I don't have any better ideas."

"What, that's the only time you pay attention to me?" The joke fell flat; Kurt returned his gaze to the rose colored sky. "It'll work out, Dave. I truly believe that."

"I hope you're right. Thanks."

Kurt clapped Dave on the back. "Have faith, Dave — not in a god, but in yourself, and your ability to handle whatever comes your way."

"You know what I do have faith in, actually?" Dave turned, his face streaked by the colors of the setting sun. "My friends. My dad. The people who love me. As long as I have you guys... I think I have a shot."

Kurt rubbed Dave's arm, trying not to break out into overemotional tears. "See? You can be sensitive when you want."

"Okay, enough of the touchy feely bullshit. How about we crack open a couple of brewskis and watch sports?"

The next thing Kurt knew, his cheek was brushing the cool wooden floor as he dissolved into hysterical laughter. He didn't get up for almost a full minute.

* * *

**Power Surge**

"911" was all the text said. But that was enough for Kurt to shoot up from his chair.

"Is everything okay?" a passing Isabelle Wright asked in concern.

Kurt quickly schooled his features to normal. "Everything's fine," he said perhaps a little too chirpily. "I think I'm going to take my break now." Isabelle nodded and went on her way. Kurt immediately retreated to the break room, huddling as much in a corner as he could, as he tapped Dave's entry on his contact list. Someone picked up on the second ring. "Dave?"

"I need help, Kurt." Dave's voice was low, harsh, strained. Kurt's heart leaped like a jackrabbit. "I gotta let it out. The power, it's... I'm starting to have trouble keeping it in..."

"You've been using it whenever you can?"

"Yeah, every time Randy's out, but it's not enough. It's not fucking enough! I... Shit...!"

Kurt nodded. He felt strangely calm, all things considered — but that was because he'd prepared for this. Funny how much a little forethought could affect one's state of mind. "Where are you right now?"

"Dorm room."

"How long do you think you can hold out?"

"You should see this place." A dark humor infected Dave's voice. "Every single fucking thing that's not nailed down is floating. It'll help, but... not forever. I think I gotta do something about it today, or..."

"Okay, I'm going to pick you up in front of your dorm in about forty five minutes. Can you be ready?"

"Y-yeah."

"All right. See you then." He hung up and went directly to Isabelle's desk; she had already returned, chewing on a pen as she looked over some proofs. "Isabelle, I have something I need to attend to. Do you mind if I duck out a few hours, and make up the time this evening instead?"

"Sure. Is something wrong?"

"Oh, nothing serious," Kurt easily lied. "A friend is in need. You know how these things go."

"I do. Just as long as you don't forget the deadline..."

"Of course not. I'll be back as soon as I can." Kurt scurried as quickly as he could to the nearest car rental agency. After a brief chat at the counter (and a frown at the surcharge he was paying for being under 25), he was pulling a bright red Civic out of the lot. Traffic was horrible, of course, but he managed to make it onto the Columbia campus in just about 43 minutes. Dave was standing in front of his residence hall; Kurt smoothly stopped right in front of him. Dave ripped open the passenger door and threw himself inside.

"Thanks," he said as he buckled himself in, and immediately Kurt knew that this was serious. It wasn't anything Dave said or did — it was a _feeling_ in the air the instant he was close. It was as though the entire car interior was... _charged_ by Dave's mere presence, for lack of a better word, buzzing with energy that prickled Kurt's skin and raised the hairs on the back of his neck. Normally, he might have chalked this up to coincidence or imagination, but his gut ("Always trust your gut" was one of Burt Hummel's favored mantras) told him it was not.

Kurt reached behind the seat into his backpack. "Here." He handed Dave a package of magnetic buckyballs. "I know it won't help much, but it's better than nothing." As he wended his way through traffic, he began punching an address into the GPS system. In the meantime, Dave held the package of buckyballs. It opened by itself, and the little metal spheres streamed out like an uncoiling snake.

"Where are we going?" Dave asked.

"New Jersey."

"What's there?"

"A place where you can cut loose." He stole a glance towards the passenger seat; Dave held his hands apart in front of him just over his lap. Between his hands, the buckyballs were spinning in a perfect sphere, clacking softly as they pulled themselves apart to form a flat sheet, then folded together into a cube. "I'm sorry we haven't met for a while. It's just that with work, and getting together my NYADA audition..."

"No, I understand. I've been kind of swamped myself." Dave's voice was still tight with tension. The buckyballs formed three small triangles that circled each other like military planes in formation.

"Do you think that's why...?"

"I've been meditating. I've been moving stuff as much as I can. It just hasn't been enough. I've been feeling it build for a while now, but today it got really bad. I'm afraid that if I had to hold it back much longer..."

Kurt held tightly onto the steering wheel. "Then good job calling me now."

"I know you had work, but—"

"No, no, you're doing what I told you to do, and that's good. This tells us that we'll need to make it a priority to adjust our schedules so we can meet more regularly. We could get away with taking breaks before, but it sounds like your power's grown enough that that's not an option right now."

"Yeah." The buckyballs formed an intricate lattice that gleamed in the sun. "Lucky me."

Kurt tried to engage in conversation as they crossed the bridge into New Jersey. "I think you were right... I think us going home to see the musical would've been a mistake." Kurt tried to keep his tone light. "I'm glad Finn is exploring what makes him happy, and seeing Rachel would've been a step back for both of them."

"Yeah. Sure." Dave's eyes were cast downwards at the buckyballs. They were floating freely now, apart from each other, forming a pulsing cloud of metal. It seethed and roiled as if preparing to unleash a storm.

"How do you feel, Dave?" Kurt asked quietly. He thought he could see loose fuzz on his sweater stand on end.

"It's like... my nerves are charged up," Dave said. "All of them, all at once. It's... I haven't felt like this in a long time. It's like I could take apart this car piece by piece if I wanted to. I _know_ I could."

"Well, please don't," Kurt joked weakly. "I need my deposit back."

"Have you ever felt, like, nervous energy? Shit, of course you have, you're a goddamn singer. But this... It's like every part of me feels that way. Like I'm a sprinter tied to a tree."

Kurt couldn't help but chuckle. "That's some metaphor there, Dave."

Dave cracked a small smile; just seeing it instantly relieved some of Kurt's tension. "Thanks. But it was the best I could do. It's like every cell in my body just _wants_ and is charged up and ready to go, and..." It was then that Kurt noticed that Dave's forehead was covered a shiny sheen of sweat. "I feel like I could lift a fucking mountain right now."

The buckyballs floating between Dave's hands shivered.

Outside, city blocks gave way to grey industrial parks which gave way to rural green. Kurt tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, occasionally glancing at the GPS. Dave continued to shape the buckyballs, shifting between formless chaos and geometric patterns. "We're almost there," Kurt said.

"We've gone a long way."

"I know. But this was our safest option." He made a right turn onto a battered mostly dirt road. "It's far from prying eyes and security cameras."

"So... what is this place?" Dave was looking out the window now; the buckyballs clattered back into the package.

"The man who owns it used to live in Lima. He was one of my dad's best suppliers before he moved to New Jersey."

"That's not what I asked, Kurt."

"Sorry. But you're about to see for yourself. We're here." He stopped the car and got out. Dave followed, looking about him in growing comprehension.

The entire area was surrounded with fence topped with barbed wire. Kurt took a key out of his pocket and unlocked the padlock on the gate. He threaded the chain out, then winced at the high pitched metallic whine as he pulled the gate open.

"What did you tell this guy you wanted to do?" Dave asked as he stepped inside, with Kurt right behind.

"Oh, it was a good story," he said with a mysterious smile. "I won't go into details, but I told him I was interested in cars, which isn't a total lie. Anyway, he always liked me when I was a kid — said I reminded him of his nephew. So it really didn't take much to convince him, and he didn't ask many questions."

The two young men were surrounded by cars. Battered rusted cars, stacked four high in row after row after row. Old cars, cars that were once painfully new, domestic and international, in a dizzying array of colors and styles, all in varying states of decay and damage.

"It's all destined to be compacted for scrap," Kurt said. "So there's no tracking of location for parts or anything of the sort. You can go wild here, Dave, and no one will see."

Dave's breathing became harsh. He slowly stepped forward into the middle of a long row of hulks. "Get back, Kurt," he said in a tremulous voice. "Get back as far as you can." By now, the energy in the air was almost painful; Kurt's teeth felt like they were vibrating. He scrambled backwards, beyond the gate. All the while, Dave just stood there, his shoulders heaving. Slowly, he raised his arms from his sides.

The first car, a battered Dodge, rose from the top of one of the stacks with a metallic groan. Then a crumpled Chevy joined it, its sickly yellow chassis dull with age. A third car lifted into the air, thousands of pounds of metal hanging unsupported over Dave's head; he gave a small, throaty sound that was half-groan, half-chuckle.

Kurt watched as the suspended cars began to rotate in a circle above them, as if running some kind of twisted track race. They spun slowly at first, then picked up speed, going faster and faster and faster, until details were barely visible, lost in freeway speed blurs. All the while, Dave lit up, his eyes closed and arms outstretched, his face suffused with relief and a sheer _joy_ that was almost...

_Inhuman_.

Kurt gulped, leaning against the rental car's front bumper. He tried to tell himself that this was merely the result of Dave's power being pent up as long as it was, but his eyes betrayed this attempt to downplay the furious, majestic _energy_ on display right before him.

The three cars stopped their endless loop, turned, then collided into each other. Dave laughed roughly. The twisted wrecks became even more twisted as they crashed again and again, showering shards and bolts that rained down on Dave yet failed to even touch him. He was lost in whatever it was he was feeling, the telekinetic force flowing out of him in waves that Kurt could almost imagine were visible. It was primal and intense and _terrifying_.

Finally, after what seemed like forever, the cars drooped in the air, gently lowering themselves back into the spots where they were before. Dave's arms fell to his sides, his chest heaving with pants. Slowly, gingerly, Kurt stepped forward. "Dave...?"

His friend's eyes opened. The aura of energy surrounding him was gone. He looked — felt — completely normal. "I..." He let out a breath. "I really needed that." He stepped forward, but his knee began to buckle.

"Whoa, there!" Kurt threw out his arms, barely managing to gently shove Dave upright again. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine, just... gimme a sec." He took another step; this one was more steady. "Just one foot in front of the other, right?" he said wryly as he put one foot in front of the other. "Okay, yeah, I'm good. I just... That was pretty intense."

"It was," Kurt said quietly. He chained the gate back up and joined Dave in the car. "Well," he said, trying to brighten his voice, "at least now we know we have a good outlet available. I'd still prefer we not let it get to that point."

"Yeah, I agree. We'll figure out something." He snapped on the radio and began singing along as Kurt pulled back out onto the main road.

But even as they drove back to New York, even as Dave sang and laughed and talked, all Kurt could think about, all he could see, was Dave lost once more in his power, when the air itself hummed and tons of metal danced effortlessly at his command... When Dave wasn't _Dave_ , but... a telekinetic.

Fear warred with guilt all the way back to the city, and Kurt wasn't sure up to the end which was winning.

* * *

**Thanksgiving**

Over the next weeks, Kurt was very grateful to be able to dive into his work at Vogue and audition preparation. It gave him a handy excuse to be able to breathe (that he considered that kind of stress and chaos _relaxing_ said a lot about his state of mind). He still worked with Dave, but he had to force himself to, and consciously not think of power and awe and fear...

Dave sensed something was wrong, of course, but said nothing, which was ridiculously relieving, because what could Kurt say? How could he revive Dave's old fears of not feeling human — or worse, find that Dave no longer felt that was something to be afraid of?

The holidays were fast approaching, which added an extra layer of distraction. The Lima trio decided to stay in New York for Thanksgiving and return on Christmas instead; thus, a grand feast was being planned. Kurt, of course, threw himself into hosting, decorating, and cooking plans with gusto. With Isabelle and her friends, Dave's roommate (a West Coaster who wouldn't be able to return home), and Brody to impress, his natural perfectionism took over.

Two days before Thanksgiving, he was lounging on the sofa looking up recipes for cranberry stuffing when a hand slammed his laptop shut.

"We have to talk," Dave said.

Kurt looked up at him with what he hoped was innocence. "Of course. What do you want to talk about?"

Dave sat in the car seat chair. "Something's bothering you."

"I assure you, Dave, that if something were bothering me, I'd tell you."

"I know. That means that whatever it is, it has something to do with me." _Dammit._ It was so easy to forget sometimes how smart Dave could be. "What is it, Kurt? I have to know. Please."

Kurt shimmied to an upright position, a delaying tactic that was much too brief. Despite his concerns, he knew he wouldn't be able to bring himself to lie to Dave. This was too big, too important. So he took a breath and bit the bullet. "You've told me that you used to not feel... human sometimes."

Dave nodded. "Yeah. And?"

"Have you ever felt... the other way?"

"What do you mean?"

"Like..." _For god's sake, Hummel, spit it out already and get it over with!_ "Like you're... _more_ than human?"

There was a heavy silence, as though someone had laid a comforter over reality itself.

"What do you expect me to say?" Dave finally asked. He jumped to his feet, arms akimbo. "'Puny humans! _Cower_ before my _awesome_ powers! I am your _god_! Mwahahahaha!'" Kurt had to admit that his _basso profundo_ enhanced his evil laugh very nicely.

"No, no," Kurt said, trying to suppress a giggle. "I mean, I know you've had problems in the past feeling like you weren't human, and—"

"I get it. I guess you're right to worry... Sometimes, when the power's really strong, and I'm able to let it loose, I get lost in it, and—" Dave's eyes widened as he sat back down. "Shit. That time at the junkyard... Is this about that...?" Kurt tried to formulate a response, but nothing came. "God, I knew I was kind of intense, but was I really...?" Kurt still couldn't speak; he could only shake his head, wildly, trying to keep Dave from the path he was inevitably stepping onto. Dave ran his fingers through his hair. "Shit..." he repeated.

"Dave, I'm sorry..."

"Don't be fucking sorry. _I'm_ sorry I scared you."

"No, don't, it wasn't your fault. I don't want you feeling like I was justified in being afraid of you..."

"You don't have to treat me like I'm gonna break. I mean, I could snap a guy's neck just by thinking about it. If you _weren't_ scared by that, you'd be a fucking moron." Dave closed his eyes for a moment before he spoke again. "But this... I understand why you're worried, but... Seriously, Kurt, here's how I feel: my power doesn't make me better than anyone else. It just makes me _different_. I mean, look at you."

Kurt blinked. "Me?"

"Come on, you know how much I've always admired you, the way you stood up to guys like me, the way you were yourself, no matter how much the world tried to make you into someone you're not. You're gonna go out there and get on Broadway or your own fashion line, and you're gonna show kids like you everywhere that they don't have to be straight and love sports to be a man. _That's_ strength, Kurt, _that's_ power, not being able to move shit with your mind. I've always known that I could hurt people with my telekinesis. I could rob banks or start a cult or maybe even take over my own country, and no one would be able to stop me. But every time I feel like I could be, like, superior to everyone, you know what I remember?"

"... What?"

"I remember that I would never have gotten to this point in my life alone. I would've killed myself or been kidnapped by the CIA and gotten my brain dissected years ago." Dave leaned forward earnestly. "You saved me, Kurt. You took a messed up telekinetic kid and helped him stand on his own two feet. You and your brother showed him that having his power didn't mean that he had to be alone and afraid forever. You and Finn... You ground me. You keep saying that I've come really far? I've said it before, and I'll say it again and again: you saved my life. Without any powers and when the smart thing would've been to run and leave me, you saved my life. I can never, _ever_ feel like I'm better than 'normal' people, because I'm friends with a normal person who's a thousand times better I'll ever be."

Kurt's head bowed. He took out a handkerchief and wiped his face. He'd heard similar words from Dave before, but this time... Something about this time... Maybe it was the sheer, undeniable purity of his sincerity, his gratitude...

"I fucking swear, Kurt," Dave continued, "if you were the one who had the power instead of me, I honestly think you'd be a superhero by now. You'd have saved the world a dozen times over..."

"Oh, stop it," Kurt finally managed to say. "If I didn't know you actually believed all this, I'd think you were going to ask me for money. I... I'm no better than anyone else either."

"Then that's just even more proof that being a telekinetic doesn't make me some kind of superior being."

Kurt was certain he was as red as the cranberry sauces he'd been researching. "Okay, no more praise; too much longer, and that inflated ego of mine will explode. I just..." He smiled. "I don't think I did anything special."

Dave returned the smile. "And that's why it actually is." He got up and patted Kurt on the shoulder. "Now get back to making our dinner. And it'd better be good."

Kurt gasped in mock outrage. "For that, you're washing every single dish yourself."

"Hah! Whatever!"

"With no powers! I like our dishes!"

"Dammit!"

On Thanksgiving Day, the apartment was warm with bodies, steaming hot food, and laughter. Isabelle rose from her place at the table. "Before we eat, I'd like to introduce a family tradition. Back home, we go around the table and tell everyone one thing we're thankful for." The others nodded assent. "I'll start: I'm thankful for my job, and the people who make it bearable." She nodded towards Kurt and sat.

Rachel was next. "I'm thankful for NYADA, and the opportunities it'll open for me."

Brody paused a long moment in thought, glancing at Rachel before saying, "I'm thankful for second chances." There were nods from some of the others.

Randy said, "I'm thankful that there'll be enough turkey left for all of you by the time I'm done with it." Chuckles rippled around the table.

Then it was Kurt's turn. He rose and said, "I'm thankful for family, and friends who are so close they might as well be family."

"Here here!" Rachel said.

Dave stood and cleared his throat. "Damn, Kurt took mine," he said sheepishly. "I... I guess I'm thankful for just being alive right now. And for the people who made it possible." He cast a significant look at Kurt as he sat down. There was a thoughtful silence before one of Isabelle's friends took her turn.

Long afterward, even when times were tough and it felt like everything was hitting the fan, Kurt would take refuge in memories of that night: the food, the laughter, the feeling of... well, _home_. Most of all, he'd remember Dave, eating and laughing along with everyone else, and, for just one evening, not thinking about psychic powers and the fear and isolation they could bring.

Dave was himself. He was comfortable where he was and who he was.

He was home.

* * *

**Swan Song**

"Why am I here again?" Dave whined as Kurt pulled him through NYADA's halls.

"Moral support," Kurt replied. "If I'm going to face down Carmen Tibideaux, it'll help knowing that I have a friend right outside."

"What the hell would I be able to do if she says no? Bust in there and demand she give you an audition?"

"That's why it's called _moral_ support, David." Turned around to talk to his friend, he nearly crashed into a student going in the other direction. "Oh! Sorry!"

"That's quite all right..." Kurt's ears immediately pricked at the British accent; he faced its source. The young man was blonde, blue eyed, and ohmigod his smile...

"No, no, I should've been watching where I was going..."

"Well, I _was_ watching, and we still collided. That would make it at least half my fault, don't you think?"

"If you say so..." Kurt coughed. "Not that I'm saying it's your fault, mind you, but..." He laughed (why was he laughing?). "Anyway... Sorry."

The young man's smile grew wider. "Really, it's no trouble at all. I, uh... I have to go to class now, though, so...?"

"Oh! Of course. Don't let me keep you." The two exchanged nods; Kurt watched the young man as he strode down the hall. It took until he disappeared into the crowds to remember that Dave was still there. He turned to his friend; all he got was raised eyebrows. "What?"

"Nothing," Dave said with a sly grin. "Come on, Ms. Tibideaux is waiting for you."

The Kurt Hummel who strode into Carmen Tibideaux's office was confident and prepared... A sharp contrast to the Kurt Hummel who was hyperventilating days later during the Winter Showcase intermission.

" _Now_?" he gasped. "Without preparation, without costuming, without...?"

"Calm down," Rachel said, holding his shoulders. "You can do this."

"She's right," Dave chimed in. "You've been, like, preparing for this for months now. You've thought about it enough. Now all you gotta do is _do_ it."

"But—!"

"What the hell, Kurt?" Dave asked in genuine befuddlement. "This... this isn't like you. What happened to Kurt Hummel of the brass balls? The guy who decided he was destined to be a star? The guy who _knew_ he was the best performer in New Directions?"

"He didn't come here tonight," Kurt gulped, "because he didn't think he'd be needed."

"But there's only one Kurt," Rachel insisted, "and he's exactly what David described. Now come on, what song are you going to do?"

"I have no idea..."

"Yes, you do. You know because you've imagined this moment a hundred... no, a _thousand_ times since your first audition. In those visions, what are you singing? Tell me! Now!"

"'Being Alive,'" Kurt said immediately. Rachel and Dave smiled, and he immediately began shaking his head. "No, no, she already said she's tired of having to listen to that song..."

"But she's never heard it the way you sing it," Dave said.

"Yeah, well, neither have you," Kurt snapped, "so you have no idea what you're talking about..."

"Then let me hear it."

Kurt stopped short. "What?"

"I said, let me hear it," Dave repeated quietly. "Right now."

"But—"

"Come on, Kurt. Let me hear it. Let me hear your dream for myself."

There had to be something in Dave's eyes, some kind of force or plea or _something_ , because Kurt found himself taking a deep breath, and then:

_Someone to hold you too close..._  
_Someone to hurt you too deep..._  
_Someone to sit in your chair..._  
_To ruin your sleep..._

As he found his voice, he found his confidence, the uncertain waver gone.

_Someone to need you too much..._  
_Someone to know you too well..._  
_Someone to pull you up short..._  
_To put you through hell..._

He was only half conscious of Rachel's and Dave's presence; he could barely see them through the song within him.

_Someone you have to let in..._  
_Someone whose feelings you spare..._  
_Someone who, like it or not..._  
_Will want you to share..._  
_A little, a lot..._

He didn't remember going on stage after that. Rachel and Dave told him he introduced himself, and sang the song from the top, but he didn't remember that either. It was as though he closed his eyes in the hallway, in the middle of the song, and opened them in the auditorium. Carmen Tibideaux was there listening, and Brody and Rachel and Dave were too, and Rachel was openly weeping and Dave looked close and he didn't have time to even consider that before being swept up himself...

_Someone to crowd you with love..._  
_Someone to force you to care..._  
_Someone to make you come through..._  
_Who'll always be there..._  
_As frightened as you..._  
_Of being alive..._

About a week later, Kurt Hummel got a letter that he opened with trembling hand and read with trembling face. His tears, hot and joyful, soaked Rachel's blouse and Dave's shirt as the two swept him up in a celebratory embrace.

At the same time, someone — someone they knew, or at least knew of — was thoughtfully reading words of their own on a computer screen, its glow the only light in the room. If Kurt or Dave had read those words, some key names and phrases would've jumped out:

"... target, David Karofsky, is..."

"... close to confirming that he is telekinetic, though I have not yet personally observed..."

"... named Kurt Hummel. I believe he may know that..."

"... recommend that I hold position and observe both more closely, until I can determine the extent of Hummel's knowledge and what method of extraction would..."

With a shake of the head and a sigh, that someone pressed a key, and the report was whisked through a secure connection to a server very far away, to be read by eyes that knew and saw much more than most people ever dreamed even existed. The someone, lost in thought, gently shut their laptop closed, casting the room into darkness.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Something bad happens related to the first episode listed below. Nothing sexual, but related nonetheless. Tread lightly if this might upset you.

**Previously Unaired Christmas / Glee, Actually  
**

"David Karofsky, if you _dare_ , I promise to you right now, you are a _dead_ man."

"Worth it!" Dave declared gleefully as he snapped the picture.

Kurt huffed and crossed his arms, aware that it probably made him look even more ridiculous. He appreciated more than anyone the power of a good costume, but come _on_ , who in the history of mankind ever wore a Christmas elf costume and looked good in it? Unfortunately, bedecked as he was in reds and greens and whites carefully designed to clash in a festive manner, it seemed that he would not be the first. "A real friend would not be mocking me right now," he said as he scratched his cheek, carefully so as to not smear his blush.

"No, I'm pretty sure a real friend would feel free to mock the hell out of you." Dave tapped at his phone, grinning. "There. Facebook."

Kurt yelped, reaching out with flailing arms — though whether to grab the phone or claw Dave's eyes out, even he wasn't quite certain. Dave, still laughing, held him at bay with just a minor application of telekinesis, which was, of course, even more infuriating. "You'd better watch your back, Karofsky!" Kurt howled. "Soon! When you least expect it! _Vengeance_!"

"Hey, the way I see it, you're the one who needed the money that bad, so suck it up, this is part of the job," Dave chuckled. "The kids think you're helping Santa, and the adults snicker at you behind your back. See, it's fun for the whole family."

"Well, when you put it that way, gee, whatever was I thinking, being embarrassed?" Kurt said dryly.

"Aw, Kurt, don't be mad. Look at it this way: when your grandkids want to know what you were like when you were young, you can show them this photo. It will haunt you forever!"

"If you think you're getting a Christmas present from me this year, you are sadly mistaken," Kurt grumped.

Dave was right about one thing, though: he did need the money, and a job was a job, so appearing in public in the elf outfit was, in the big picture, a small price to pay. And at least he had Rachel and the visiting Santana to "share" in the humiliation, even if they looked much better in their outfits than he did in his. (Funny thing about Santana visiting... She spent an awful lot of time with Dave. If you'd asked him his prediction, he would've said that she wouldn't care about him one way or the other this far out of high school. Maybe she saw something more in him — perhaps something close to what Kurt saw in him — than he thought.)

And the job wasn't all bad, despite the garish costumes and surly Santa; between the bratty spoiled whiners and the screaming terrified toddlers, there were kids for whom Kurt could just tell that this was a highlight of their year in a life without a lot of highlights. Their clothes told the story: threadbare, faded, worn to an extent that bespoke of multiple generations of hand-me-down. They were generally quiet (much too quiet for children) and grateful for even small gestures, and Kurt was happy to put smiles on their faces, even for just a brief while. It also reminded him how damn lucky he was.

Speaking of lucky, there was the replacement Santa... Oh my. If he had to stand around the mall all evening, better scenery like _that_ would certainly make the time go by quicker — which was ironic, considering that after it was all over, he just wanted to turn memories of that time into a blur.

It was all so humiliating in retrospect: Cody showing up at the apartment and them not questioning it, their many, _many_ toasts to whatever he came up with, the... encounter between him and Kurt on the kitchen table (okay, maybe that wasn't quite as humiliating, since whatever the outcome, it was _undeniably_ hot)... Not to mention how the whole evening ended...

Kurt had just decided what he wanted his superpower to be: the ability to _kill_ with just a look. If he had it, Cody would be dead at least four times over. As it was, the bastard was just whistling "Frosty the Snowman" as he rummaged through Kurt's belongings.

"Too bad," he said as he shoved Kurt's laptop into his sack. "Could've had some fun before I settled down to business. Your loss." Kurt snarled imprecations at him, sadly muffled through his gag. "I would've liked to leave my... _personal_ touch. Y'know, to remember me by—"

That was when they both heard the apartment door grind open.

"Hey, guys!" Dave's voice called out merrily. "The OMA Christmas party just ended, so I brought you guys some leftovers! Hello? Anybody here...?"

Cody cast a baleful glare at Kurt, bringing his finger to his lips in a menacing hush. Gently placing his sack on the floor, he drew a long silver candlestick out from it (a housewarming gift from one of Rachel's fathers) and tiptoed out of the room.

"You guys back there? Don't tell me you're all drunk already..."

Kurt struggled against his festive bonds, feeling more helpless than he ever had in his life. Not even a scream at the top of his lungs would produce more than a low hum; he'd already tried. _Dave's still in good shape. He can defend_ _himself_ , he thought. _But if he's taken by surprise..._ And what would Cody do now, trapped with a fourth potential witness between him and the door? _Please wait it out. Please, God, let him decide to wait it out..._

"Kurt? Rachel? Are you guys—" There was the sound of flesh impacting flesh, breath being driven out of lungs by terrific force.

Kurt screamed again, this time out of terror. Once more, no one could hear.

All he could hear were bangs and grunts, furniture being knocked over. The volume constantly diminished and increased as the struggle moved through the apartment. Then Cody slid across the floor into Kurt's field of vision, the candlestick clanging as it landed next to his head. Dave appeared, slamming his full weight onto the larcenous Santa's chest. His eyes locked on Dave and full of pain and hate, Cody reached back, his hand groping for the candlestick... only his improvised weapon rolled away of its own accord, stopping just a couple of feet from Kurt's bed. Frustrated, Cody dared to look back to try to grab the candlestick. His face had only a moment to register confusion before Dave's fist cracked against his cheek. Roaring, Cody managed to catch Dave off balance after the punch and knock him off. Both men scrambled to their feet, and they vanished once more.

His eyes brimming with tears, Kurt could only listen to the banging and grunting and cries of pain. Finally, the air was pierced with the sound of something shattering, then... silence. No, there was heavy breathing. It was getting closer, along with the clomping of unsteady footsteps... Kurt's heart was pounding in his ears.

Dave staggered into the room, blood leaking from his lip and his right hand hanging limply at his side. Kurt was sobbing as Dave untied him with trembling hands. He was sobbing as Dave pulled the gag out of his mouth. And then finally, he was free to truly release his terror and relief, clinging to Dave as both their bodies shook with adrenaline.

"You're okay..." Kurt whispered. "Thank god you're okay..."

"What about you? Are you all right?" Kurt could only bring himself to nod onto Dave's shoulder. "What about Rachel and Santana?"

"In bed. I think... I think he might've drugged them..."

"I'm just glad he didn't do anything worse." Kurt's head reeled, the full horror of what could have been slamming him in the gut. "I bashed that son of a bitch over the head with one of Rachel's vases." He gave a small, wry grin as he wiped the blood off his chin. "I hope she doesn't mind."

"If she tries to make you pay for it, I'll tell her to go to hell and pay for it myself." Kurt paused; was this the time for the question that came to mind, or...?

"I hit him from behind," Dave said, answering Kurt's unspoken query. "When he was grappling with me. I don't think he has any clue how I did it... or even _that_ I did it." Kurt nodded; now that he was truly beginning to relax, he found himself having to fight an overwhelming urge to nod off. "Call the cops. I'm going to tie him up." He gathered up the decorations Cody had used on Kurt and hurried out of the room.

Still shaking, Kurt managed to climb unsteadily off the bed and make his way to the Santa bag. A few seconds of rummaging found his cell phone. The police were there not long afterward; by that time, he'd managed to rouse Rachel and Santana. They were being examined by a paramedic as all four silently watched the battered and dazed Cody being led out of the apartment in handcuffs.

"Lucky bastard," Santana snarled. "I would've cut him open from throat to belly button."

The detective taking Dave's statement nodded as he shut his notebook. "You were lucky," he said to the group. "All of you. This guy's got a rap sheet as long as Santa's naughty list, including assault." If Kurt hadn't been already seated, he might have collapsed. "The paramedics will make sure you're okay. I'll leave my card in case you have any questions."

By the time the last of the medical workers left, giving them clean bills of health (not, as Dave said, that that did much for the pain he was in from his bruised knuckles and ribs), the apartment was dead silent. The four friends were sitting around the coffee table, just staring at each other. It was past 2 am, but none of them moved from their chairs.

Finally, Rachel rose. "David? Would you mind... staying here for the night? I think I speak for all of us when I say that I don't want to be alone right now."

Dave nodded. "Of course. I'll take the couch."

"I'm going to try to get some sleep," she continued. "I think... I think whatever Cody gave us is still in my system." She wandered to the apartment door, checked the locks, and padded towards the bedrooms. Halfway there, she stopped and nodded towards Dave. "Thank you." Then she vanished into the back.

"I know I'm not going to be able to sleep," Santana said, rising herself. "I'm gonna go downstairs to the bar and con some guy into buying me a drink."

"Are you sure that's...?" Kurt began, mildly alarmed.

"Oh, don't you worry about me, Thumbelina. Worry about anyone stupid enough to try to mess with me after the night we've had." She squinted a second at Kurt's face, and her own expression softened. "I'll be fine." She glanced towards Dave, but then, without another word, gathered up a coat and stepped out of the apartment.

Kurt wearily rose, shuffled to the couch where Dave was sitting, and flopped down next to him. He didn't even think about sending wrong signals or discomfort or any of that bullshit; he just knew that if he didn't, neither he nor Dave would be able to have any peace that night. Silently, Dave put an arm around Kurt's shoulder as he rested his head on Dave's chest.

"I was so scared." Dave's voice was gravelly, tight with tense memories. "When that guy attacked me, I... I wasn't sure what to do. I was kind of panicking, and I thought about using my power, but... I couldn't. Not like that. I didn't want to kill him or anything like that... Even though I thought he might kill me. Does... does that make me some kind of coward?"

Kurt slipped deep into thought. Dave had been attacked suddenly by an intruder — any reasonable person would've considered his life in danger. He would have been completely justified in telekinetically crushing Cody's skull or breaking his neck in self defense. Hell, just crippling him wouldn't have been morally out of the question. But he didn't. He defended himself the hard way, not out of fear of exposure — how could he have thought of it in the heat of combat? — but because...

Because... Well, the answer was simple, once Kurt put some thought into it:

Because that was the kind of person Dave was. Because he'd been taught not to use his power to hurt people that way, and it apparently stuck, even when no one would've condemned him, least of all Kurt. Was it smart? Maybe not. Was it born out of still lingering guilt, a fear of slipping back into the days of Karofsky and violence? Perhaps, and that was something he'd have to discuss with Dave later.

But when it came to the question of what that made Dave, there was only one answer.

"No. That makes you a good person who doesn't take human life lightly."

"... Thanks."

"Dave?" Kurt asked softly. Some part of his brain that was still rational couldn't believe that he was about to ask what he was going to ask, but some force, perhaps shell shock, pushed it through.

"Yeah?"

"If you didn't have any powers... if you'd been normal... do you think you would've won that fight?"

There was a long silence. Finally, Kurt felt Dave's chest heave underneath his ear. "I don't know."

Kurt fell asleep listening to the beating of Dave's heart.

A week later, when both Kurt's and Dave's fathers came to visit, the friends came to a mutual agreement not to mention the close call. What would be the point, other than creating needless worry? There was enough need _ful_ worry as there was, as Burt Hummel told his son what was happening to him. "I'll be okay, son," he said. "I have your stepmom and Finn. You know what will help me the most? Knowing that _you're_ doing okay. Take care of yourself, and I'll feel a lot better."

"But... _cancer_..."

"I've seen worse. I'm gonna beat it. What I don't want you to do is put your life on hold for me. I'm not gonna be around forever, and you're at the age where you have to start building your own life. If I need you, I'll call, but until then, assume I'm okay."

Kurt could barely speak; instead he just hugged his father. "Every week. I want to hear from you every week, okay?"

Burt chuckled. "Hey, who's the parent here again? I'm sure that Carole or Finn will keep you up to date if I don't." The two separated, and the elder Hummel patted his son's back. "Don't you have a delivery to make?" Kurt got up reluctantly. "See? This is just what I mean. I'll still be here when you get back, and you made plans. Go on now."

It took another ten minutes for Kurt to leave the apartment and take the subway to Columbia. True to his word, Dave was in the lobby, opening the door for Kurt as soon as he came into view. "How was dinner with your dad?" Kurt asked, suppressing the tremors in his voice as he entered.

"It was good. He still wants me to come home for the holidays."

"So does mine. I think I can swing it, at least."

They were in the hall outside Dave's room when he finally slowed. "Look, Kurt, my dad told me about yours..."

Kurt stopped cold. "Oh..."

"Are... How are you doing?"

"I'm doing fine. It's Dad who has cancer."

"I know, I know, but shit like cancer doesn't just affect the people who have it. I just want to make sure you're okay."

Kurt opened his mouth to give the obvious, safe answer. "I'm not." Okay, that wasn't at all what he meant to say, but it was out there now; there was no going back. He sighed, leaning against a wall. "It's just... a lot's happened lately, you know? We almost get robbed, you almost get killed, Dad..."

"Yeah. When it rains, it pours, huh?" They continued down the hall in silence, stopping in front of Dave's room. "Look, if you ever need to talk..."

"Thanks. I will. But..." He put on a smile. "Do you know what would help me?"

"What? Whatever it is..."

He handed Dave the shopping bag he was carrying. "Take this. Merry early Christmas."

Dave peeked in; Kurt knew exactly what he'd see: a neatly wrapped gift box. "Thanks, but... how does this help _you_?"

"It helps me get my mind off... recent events. In fact, I'd like you to open it after I go. Just so I can go home knowing that you've seen it."

Dave nodded. "Okay. Thanks again."

"Sure." Kurt gave Dave a hug. "Good night, Dave."

"Good night, Kurt." He stepped into his dorm room and shut the door. Kurt did not leave; in fact, he inched closer to the door, his ear nearly pressed against the wood. Long minutes passed.

Then the air was split by a loud shriek emanating from the room. Passing students jumped, turning to stare at the closed door. Kurt cackled. " _Vengeance_!" he cried, pumping his fist and skipping giddily down the hall, Dave's roaring voice following him.

"God fucking dammit, Hummel! You'll pay for this!"

* * *

**Sadie Hawkins**

"Seriously, Kurt, what is it with you and glee clubs? Are they, like, crack to you or something? Don't you sing and dance enough in classes?"

"What, you're telling me you weren't a _little_ tempted to join one at Columbia?"

"No! ... Well, maybe. A little."

"Hah, I knew it!"

"But with my classes, and our training, I just don't have time..."

"Well, I've decided to make time."

"Hm."

"What?"

"There's something else, isn't there?"

"What makes you say that?"

"Come on, Kurt, you got that little grin. There's something to this besides just singing and dancing, isn't there?"

"You're right. Remember that hot British guy we... _I_ bumped into when I went to ask for an audition?"

"I... think so? You mean...?"

"Yes! He's the leader of the glee club!"

"Ooooh. I gotcha."

"You... don't mind?"

"Don't...? Look, Kurt, we're friends. The only interest that I have in your social life is making sure you have one, and that you're happy with it. And even if you don't believe that, believe this: if you don't ask him out, _I'm_ gonna."

"... Seriously."

"What, you don't think I could sweep him off his feet?"

"Well, literally, obviously, but—"

"Oh ho, it's _on_ now, Hummel. Wanna make a bet?"

"No, no, that's all right, I... You really think I should—?"

"Hey, life's about taking risks. Wasn't that what that song you sang to get into NYADA was all about? You deserve it, Kurt. Go see if this guy is interested. Remember what happened at Christmas? That's what happens when you're lonely, and don't deny that you were. That wouldn't have happened if you'd had a hot boyfriend."

"Heh, maybe you're right. But you're sure you...?"

" _Kurt_. Goddammit, I'm _fine_. Even if I weren't, it doesn't matter."

"But you're my friend, and—"

"I refuse to be the reason you don't date. That would make me feel shittier than anything you could possibly do."

"I just don't want to—"

"Okay, I'm going."

"Dave..."

"And I'm not coming back until you have that guy's phone number."

"But Dave—"

"Get his number, Kurt!"

"Dave, wait—! Goddammit."

* * *

**Naked**

"Hey, Kurt, I was wondering if— Gak!"

"Oh, hi, Dave." Brody casually waved from the kitchen table. Kurt couldn't suppress his amusement as Dave blushed and averted his eyes.

"I, uh... Kurt, I was... Uh..."

Kurt rose from the table, frankly relieved for the distraction. "Come on, we can talk in the living room." Studiously planting himself between Dave and Brody, the two retreated behind the curtains separating the "rooms."

As soon as they were seated, Dave spoke, low and hissing. "He was—!"

"I know."

"What the fuck is he, a nudist? He—"

"I know!"

The blush finally draining from his face, Dave's lips quirked in amusement. "I guess this means he moved in, huh?"

"It does," Kurt sighed. "At least he's hot." He calmly sipped his tea. "So... what did you want to talk about?"

Kurt vaguely wondered if it had something to do with Adam Crawford. True to his word, Dave refused to answer a call or text until Kurt had Adam's number. He supposed that he could understand why Dave did it; putting any part of his life on hold to spare someone else's feelings wasn't exactly healthy for anyone involved. But if he was right, if Dave was still harboring feelings for him, wasn't it cruel to dangle his happiness in front of Dave's face? Or would it be more cruel, as he'd insisted, to end the friendship, to leave him to handle his telekinesis alone?

And it was back to the power. _Again_. It just added an extra layer of complexity over already complex systems of human existence. At this point, Kurt would've happily taken advice from comic books, but very few seemed to delve into this particular type of difficulty in handling superhuman abilities, damn them. And he'd _looked_ — that alone should have been a sign of his desperation.

"Uh, well, I kinda need your help. There's gonna be something called Athlete Ally Week at Columbia... It's supposed to raise awareness of homophobia in sports and the importance of straights being allies, and... they want me to make a speech to kick it off. Y'know, 'cause I'm gay and an intramural jock and all."

Kurt brightened. "Dave, that's great! So what's the problem?"

"The _problem_ is that it's a fucking _speech_."

"So what? You've performed in front of hundreds. You're a show choir champion."

"Yeah, and I never had a solo for a reason."

"Because Mr. Schuester wouldn't know talent if it hit him over the head with a Tony?"

"Hah, no. It's because I didn't want to stand out."

"Oh." Kurt took a second to juggle words in his head. "You know... Standing out isn't such a bad thing, if there's a good reason."

"You mean—?"

"No, I don't even mean _that_. I mean your journey. I think it's objectively fascinating, and I think it's something that should be shared."

"Maybe, but it's still a fucking _speech_ , everyone focused on _me_. I have to give them an answer soon, but honestly, I'm as nervous as fuck even _thinking_ about it."

"Well, you know the traditional advice..." Kurt raised an eyebrow and nodded towards Brody, still sitting at the kitchen table munching on cereal.

Dave chuckled. "Okay, the _last_ fucking thing I need during a speech is wood, okay? These are _athletes_ I'm gonna be talking to, remember?"

"Nevertheless, I think the fact that you're even considering this shows that you realize how important this could be, and how far you've come."

"Yeah, sure. I still want to ask for your help, though. You're a way better performer than I am, and I kinda need help not freaking out..."

"I sense that's not just because of the speech."

Dave rubbed his forearm. "Yeah — not just the public speaking thing, anyway. It's because... this'll be me _really_ coming out. I mean, it's one thing to tell my roommate and my classmates that I'm gay, but this is a _huge_ public speech." He laughed, a note of bitterness creeping in. "Funny, isn't it? All the other... things I gotta deal with, but _this_ still freaks me out. Pathetic, huh?"

Kurt leaned forward. "Don't think that way. Your sexuality may not be the most serious part of your life, but it's still big." He slapped his open palm on the coffee table. "You know what always helps? Practice. Write the speech, then practice it in front of whoever's available: me, Rachel, Randy, Brody... Gather up a bunch of classmates and practice in front of them. It's just like football or tel— you know. The more you do it, the more comfortable you are."

To be frank, Kurt was relieved to be able to advise Dave on something as "simple" as sexuality and public speaking. For one thing, it was a reminder to Dave that there was more to his life, to _him_ , than psychic powers. For another, at least with this, he felt like he was on familiar ground, that his advice was worth a shit. He hated flying blind, so of course he was forced to do it with Dave most of the time. Any time life could be simpler, he treasured.

Funny how easy he was to satisfy these days.

"Okay, well... I still have to write the damn thing, then."

"Can't help you there, Dave. It's your life. Write what you feel."

And so it was, a month later, that he, Rachel, Randy, and Brody were in the audience at a packed auditorium, listening to the young man onstage. He spoke confidently, with barely a waver of voice or verbal hesitation. Kurt tried not to feel _too_ smug, but failed utterly.

"... For a long time, I felt alone — so alone that I lashed out. I bullied people like me, because I was terrified that if anyone found out I was gay, I'd have nobody. It took a lot of pain, and the courage and love of my friends and my straight teammates, to show me I was wrong. Not all of them supported me, but enough to make a huge difference in my life. Every single person who had my back made me less afraid. Every single one of them made me proud to be who I am. I'm a gay athlete, but I'm also much more." Was it Kurt's imagination, or did Dave look directly in his direction? "I'm a son, a brother, a friend, a classmate... and yes, a teammate.

"It's quoted often, but it's true: 'no man is an island, entire of itself. Every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main.' If you take only one thought home with you this week, after the speeches and presentations and activities are done, I hope it's that, because even if you never meet another homosexual person in your life — and there are more of us out there than you may think — we all need to feel connected. We all need to feel like someone out there cares. And even if it's only one person — even if it's only _you_ — that can make all the difference in someone's life. I hope you all find it in your heart to be that person for as many others as you can. Thank you."

Kurt would've felt a little silly if he'd been the only one to rise with his applause, but he wasn't; Rachel, in fact, beat him to it. Dave didn't have a lot of time to drink it all in before he had to make room for the next speaker, but Kurt hoped he did, at least a little. Because every good performance deserved applause, and his... well, it wasn't Broadway, but perhaps it was even more important.

* * *

**I Do**

Kurt turned the invitation over in his hands.

"You going?" Dave was sitting across from him, holding an identical invitation.

"Of course. Mr. Schue may not have been perfect, but he did play a big role in my life. You?"

Dave nodded. "Same here. He really did encourage me when I was in New Directions. I feel like I owe him."

To be honest, Kurt was looking forward to the change in scenery, even if it was returning to Ohio. His life lately had been frankly chaotic. First there was the Diva Off with Rachel, which (he still felt warm and fuzzy remembering this, even now) he won. Then there was dating Adam, which made up for Rachel's sulking (and, according to Dave, crying on his shoulder). _Then_ there was Santana showing up out of the blue (Dave behind her carrying her stuff with obvious reluctance) and actually moving in. He needed a breather, and the wedding seemed to be the perfect place for it. Except...

There was that line — that one little line on the invitation. It had been a bane of his once, and in a way, it still was: "Number attending."

For the first time, he could _—_ _could_ — put something other than "1" there. But on the other hand...

"Are you going to invite Adam as your plus one?"

Kurt looked up in surprise. "Are you sure you're not telepathic?" He nearly added "too" at the end, but the clopping of heels reminded him that Santana was lurking about, so he managed to bite it off in time. "Anyway, I'm not sure. It feels like it'd be going a little too fast..."

Dave shrugged. "I won't pretend that I know shit about this kind of thing. But hell, Kurt, you deserve an uncomplicated relationship with someone who's not and has never been an asshole to you."

"We all do," Kurt said softly, the meanings not escaping him at all. "Anyway... I think I'm going to fly solo for now. I have a feeling the wedding is going to be complicated enough as it is."

As it turned out, he was right, of course.

"You know," Dave said as the crowd filed out to the reception, "the guys on the football team always said that the glee club was fucking batshit crazy."

"Well, they were right about that," Kurt said as he plucked a canape from a tray. "That you willingly stepped into our den of iniquities just proves that you're also crazy — and thus perfect for New Directions."

Dave chuckled. "Hey, do you see Finn? I wanted to catch up some more."

"I don't..." Kurt looked around. "And Rachel seems to have disappeared too..."

"Uh oh."

Kurt sighed as he and Dave sat at their table. "Honestly, I'm tired of chasing after that girl. She's a grown woman; she can make her own decisions."

"As long as we don't get caught up in the drama."

"Oh, didn't you know, David?" Kurt said as he sipped delicately at a glass of champagne. "You already are. You just don't realize it yet."

The group returned to New York exhausted and, at least in Rachel and Santana's case, pensive. Dave was named official luggage carrier (at least for Santana), so he was there when they opened the apartment door and found it festooned with flowers. Brody stood in the center of it all, grinning.

"Oh my god," Rachel gasped, dropping her bags. "It's... it's beautiful."

"Happy Valentine's Day," he said as she ran into his arms. "It's a little late, but I hope you don't mind."

"O-of course not! I'm just sorry I wasn't here on the actual day. I hope you didn't have too much fun without me." She coquettishly poked him in the chest.

"Oh, no. I just... stayed home and watched weightlifting videos. How about you?"

"N-nothing, really. Mr. Schuester's wedding pretty much took up all of my time and energy. So! Is all that for me...?"

Kurt shook his head as he brought his bags into the apartment; Santana had already disappeared into her own room. In all the wedding hubbub, he'd actually forgotten about Valentine's Day — not that he would've been crass enough to suggest a third Hummel-Karofsky Valentine's Day Sucks dinner. As he settled into his room, memories of the previous year's disaster welled up again. Thinking on it, he was actually a little surprised Dave had come to the wedding, given the timing; but then, he could have counted on said wedding overwhelming possible discomfort and memories.

Speaking of Valentines... Kurt glanced at his phone. There had been a text waiting for him when he landed from Adam: "Hope you had a good trip. Ring me when you're free." Kurt smiled — always so thoughtful. Perhaps inviting him to the wedding would've been going too fast, but that still left the basic question: was this something he wanted to pursue?

A face, a question, came into mind, one he tried to dispel as forcefully as he could. Dave was right: he couldn't hold back on life, on relationships, out of fear of hurting someone else. Even if Dave was lying about being okay with Kurt dating, he definitely wasn't when he said that he'd feel even guiltier if he thought that he was the reason Kurt wasn't taking the plunge into the dating world. So why not do what was best for himself... for once? Pangs of guilt simmered up just from the uncharitable thought, a reminder of just how complicated this whole situation was.

He looked down at the phone. Still, there _was_ one way Dave could actually reasonably affect this decision: could he imagine, under any circumstances, feeling safe telling Adam about Dave? How did he imagine Adam responding? With fear? Hate? Or...?

_He's your friend, Kurt. I'll help you — and him. I'll keep his secret, no matter what. I promise.  
_

Kurt smiled. He hit his phone screen and waited impatiently for the connection to complete.

"Hi, Adam, I... I'm back."

* * *

**Girls (And Boys) On Film**

"Kurt, love?"

"Mmm, call me that again..."

"Kurt, are you...?"

"I'm okay. Go ahead and start the movie..."

"It's, uh... It's already over."

"What?" Kurt's eyes snapped open, wincing as he realized that they were closed to begin with. He lifted his head off Adam's shoulder, staring at the end credits flowing by on screen. "Oh, God, I'm so sorry..."

"No, it's fine. Besides, you're so adorable when you're asleep that I just couldn't bear to wake you." Adam stroked the back of the blushing Kurt's head. "You've been so tired lately. Is it NYADA or Vogue? Do I have to have a word with your boss?" he added with mock outrage.

"Isabelle knows when she has a good thing on her hands, I'll give you that." Kurt yawned before he could stop himself.

"Seriously, though, are you all right? It seems like you're exhausted every night. If Isabelle's overworking you..."

"No, no, I'm fine." There it was: the old lying, the old fatigue. With Santana living in the apartment, he and Dave had to go to more and more trouble to get alone time in which to train. Combined with NYADA, Vogue, dating, and home drama (right now it was something about somebody's cash and a pager...? Kurt didn't particularly care to keep up with the details), it was the same story as McKinley, only the prospect of summer wasn't nearly the relief it was then.

And he knew for a fact that Dave was going through the same. Randy had actually messaged him over Facebook asking if Dave was okay. "He's snapping at everyone, especially me," he reported. "I've found him asleep over his books three times in the past week — in the middle of the day! I know college is supposed to be stressful, but I don't think it's supposed to be _that_ bad."

Poor Dave. Though he didn't have as much to do as Kurt, he more than made up for it in stress and training work. Like Kurt, he too insisted that he was fine, but he had to know that Kurt wasn't being fooled, didn't he? This kind of pace could only hurt Dave's control... It was a diabolical feedback loop — one Kurt had no idea how to break.

"If you say so," Adam said, breaking into Kurt's thoughts. "But if there's ever anything I can do..."

Kurt smiled wanly. "You'll be the first to know."

"Good." Adam gently kissed his forehead. "We didn't find 'our' movie, though."

"Well, then," Kurt said slyly, "I suppose we'll just have to watch more together until we do."

"Damn. What a burden."

* * *

**Feud**

"You two are fucking nuts."

Kurt had to agree, though he was glad he wasn't the one saying it. Honestly, he shouldn't even have been eavesdropping, but in a layout like this apartment, it could get pretty difficult not to sometimes, especially if the parties involved were absorbed enough in their own issues. Such was the case here.

Santana's obsession with finding dirt on Brody had reached rather disturbing levels. Kurt had complained about it to Dave, and apparently Rachel had too, because now he was in Santana's room with Finn on Skype. Apparently, she'd recruited Finn with whatever it was she was planning, and that was going a step too far. He was relieved that Dave agreed.

"He's a fucking gigolo," Santana insisted. "I know it."

"But you don't have any proof."

"I _will_ if you just let me—!"

"Come on, dude!" Finn's voice said over the computer connection. "If Santana's right, Rachel needs to know!"

"All I've heard so far is a bunch of fucking speculation! And for _this_ you're going to come all the way over here, and do what? Beat the guy up?"

"This is for Rachel!" Finn cried.

"No, this is for you," Dave snapped. "You're fucking jealous."

"I'm not! If Rachel is dating an escort—"

"You've both gone fucking insane! Look, I get what you're doing and why—"

"No, I don't think you do," Santana said. "Who knows what kind of fucking diseases Weston is giving her?"

"Based on cash and a pager? That you found because you were _sneaking through his stuff_? Look, guys, Rachel's my friend too, but we have to let her make her own decisions. _Remember_ that, Finn?"

"Uh..." To his credit, he actually sounded embarrassed. "I know, but—"

"He's a fucking _prostitute_ ," Santana insisted.

"I thought he was a drug dealer?"

"That's what I thought too, but—"

Dave sighed. "Finn, you have to put an end to this. If you really love Rachel, you have to let her live her life, no matter how hard it is to watch. If..." Dave's breath caught, and Kurt was starting to understand why, and now he knew he _really_ shouldn't be listening, but he couldn't turn away. "If you're meant to be, then she'll come back to you eventually. But maybe she never will. And if she doesn't, don't you want her to be happy, even if it's not with you? Do you want to _be_ the person who makes her unhappy? Who breaks up her relationship based on... on _nothing_? What if you're wrong? Do you really want to be the one who makes her cry?"

"Don't listen to him!" Santana snarled. "It won't be our fault! It'll be Brody's! He—"

"No." Finn's voice was small, but firm. "Dave's right."

"Finn—!"

"I said _no_ , Santana! This was a bad idea to begin with, and I was an idiot to agree! It's just that with everything happening here, I thought... I guess I thought I could win on _something_. But it was wrong. I was wrong."

"Finn, we can't let her...! What if she—"

"Hell, if he really is a gigolo," Finn continued with a levity he obviously didn't really feel, "he'd have to be a moron not to use protection, right? So Rachel should be okay."

"Finn, we can't stop! We—!"

"It's over, San," Dave said, and it occurred to Kurt that was the first time he'd heard that nickname from him, but it sounded like a well-worn one. Interesting... "Give me the pager, and we'll all pretend none of this ever happened."

Santana sighed, and Kurt heard the impact of plastic against palm. "Fine. But if Rachel gets hurt because of you—!"

"Then at least she'll have found out on her own, instead of someone meddling in her life again. But seriously, San, how the hell did you come up with gigolo? I mean, even drug dealer would've been more likely to me..."

Kurt finally managed to tear himself away from the conversation and creep back to his room, feeling a little unclean for having eavesdropped for so long. He was a little torn on the issue of sex workers (hell, he could be as judgmental as any straight man — he knew that), but if Brody actually was one... He knew his friendship with Rachel was probably clouding his judgment as much as it was for Finn and Santana, and he couldn't help but wonder if he was glad that Dave won the argument.

Then he began thinking of how Dave told Finn about not hurting Rachel despite his love for her, and how it sounded like he really wasn't talking about Finn and Rachel, and Kurt had to shut down that train of thought for his own sanity.

It was only later that Kurt realized that the other big reason Dave probably defended Brody was because of the whole concept of actively digging into someone's life for secrets. Of course he'd hate that. If someone did that to Dave... If they discovered what _he_ was hiding...

God, what on Earth would they do then?

* * *

**Listening In**

The "somebody" was busy again. The bugs planted in the apartment and in a few other locations had been... illuminating. A recording made from one in the living room was currently playing on the laptop.

There was the sound of chair legs sliding across wood. "... Thought they'd never leave." That was Kurt's voice. He was an... interesting one, to say the least. "Okay, how's your meditation been going?" Take that bit, for instance. It actually sounded like he was genuinely concerned for Dave Karofsky's well being...

"Fine, I guess." Now Dave, the somebody had a better handle on. His was a rather common story, one the somebody had seen a few too many times, even as a relative newbie to the field. How on Earth did the more experienced operatives handle it, having years more experience under their belts? The horror stories that were whispered in the corridors and the cafeteria... It brought a shudder down the spine just thinking about them.

"Has it been helping?"

"Yeah, but..." There was a sigh.

"The power?" A second of silence — some kind of non-verbal communication, probably. "What's it been telling you?"

"It's still getting stronger." The somebody sucked in a breath. Was that even possible? Initial readings had already put Dave's levels near the top of the charts. For anybody, least of all a nineteen year old, to still be keeping that kind of power under _any_ kind of control, never mind a secret... Just who the hell _were_ these two?

But then, the somebody mused, interacting with them all this time had already said a lot... Much of it completely unexpected.

"Okay." Kurt actually sounded calm, like he _knew_ what he was doing, but that was impossible... right? "We'll take this like we take everything: one day at a time."

"Yeah, and we're constantly playing catch-up."

"True, but what else can we do?"

"I don't know... And that's the entire fucking problem." The somebody nodded along grimly. "I feel like I'm going to put you in danger again."

"Oh, no, you aren't getting rid of me _that_ easily. We've been dealing with this for almost three years now..." The somebody nearly fell out of their chair. _Three years_? Kurt had been keeping this secret with Dave for three years?! How...?! The somebody's mind was rebelling at the mere thought. "... And I intend to see this through with you."

"God fucking dammit, Kurt, I never meant to be some kind of lifelong obligation."

"I know." Now that was at least a little more along the lines of what the somebody was expecting to hear in Kurt: weariness, dread. The exhaustion in both of them lately had been pretty plain. "But come on, you're my friend. I already deal with Rachel's drama and Santana's bitchiness; I can handle a little telekinesis." God, he sounded so _sincere_ , like it really _wasn't_ a big deal to be an amateur training someone in the control of psychic power...

"Christ, Kurt, you've already sacrificed so much for me... You keep this up, and I'll never be able to pay you back."

"You're here, and you're whole. That's payment enough for me, as far as I'm concerned. Back to business: have you read that book on relaxation techniques I loaned you?"

The somebody hit a button on the laptop, leaning back in their chair and sighing. Fingers gently rubbed at an aching temple. At first, they thought that the impressions they'd gotten of Kurt and Dave from personal interactions _had_ to be some kind of lie, some kind of front. There was no way Kurt, an ordinary human as far as they could tell, could be treating Dave, a talent, this way. But there were a dozen private conversations like this on the laptop, all of them similar in tone. It definitely made this assignment more complicated — no, a _lot_ more complicated — than normal. (Then again, normal? In this job? What a laugh.)

The somebody sighed, tapping the laptop trackpad over to a blank screen. The next report. What could they say at this point? Well, they'd have to tell the truth, give an accurate accounting of their impressions and the contents of those conversations... But then they'd have to make another recommendation on course of action, and _there_ was the difficulty.

Because frankly, the somebody had absolutely no idea what to do. And it was all because of Kurt Hummel.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: This section deals with "The Quarterback" and its repercussions. Appropriate warnings for that episode apply here. Same with "Bash." Also have a story of attempted sexual assault and (possibly) gruesome imagery later. Don't worry, I do all this with specific purpose in mind. It all serves the story, promise.

**Close Call**

"So this is the famous Vogue." Dave took a casual glance at the framed covers decorating the hallway. "It's... an office. Except everyone's really well dressed."

Kurt chuckled. "Yes, I think you've figured out our secret. Oh, Isabelle! You remember Dave?"

"From Thanksgiving, right!" She shook his hand warmly, which was quite remarkable, considering the huge stack of papers she was carrying in her arms. "Nice to see you again! Kurt's showing you around?"

"Yeah. He wanted me to see where, uh... how'd he put it? 'The magic happens'?"

"Ha! Well, usually the 'magic' comes out of a hell of a lot of hard work, as you can see." She wryly lifted her stack a little higher. "Hopefully, you two can— Uh oh." The stack of papers began listing to one side. "Just a second, I— Aaagh!"

Isabelle's attempts to keep the stack upright just made matters worse. Instead of simply sliding to the floor, the papers exploded into a cloud of white all around them. Cursing a lot more than Kurt had ever heard her curse before, she kneeled down and began snatching paper off the floor. "Dammit! It'll take me forever to get these back in order..."

Kurt didn't hear her. He was too busy staring at the sheaf of papers hanging suspended in mid air. Dave was staring too, in open-mouthed shock. Kurt took a quick look around; no one else was in the hall, and Isabelle was focused on scooping up her papers, thank God. "Dave!" he hissed, jabbing Dave in the side. Visibly starting, Dave held out his hands, and the floating sheaf dropped into his hands just as Isabelle straightened.

"Oh! Thank you," she said as Dave gently gave the papers to her. "You have very good reflexes."

"He was a high school athlete," Kurt said, trying to keep down the note of nervous hysteria.

As soon as they were alone, Kurt pulled Dave into an empty office. "I didn't mean to!" Dave said as soon as the door shut behind them. "It was... I don't know, instinct!"

Kurt groaned, rubbing his forehead. Of course it was; Dave was experienced enough and smart enough to have not done it on purpose. But instinct... that was troublesome. He'd already known that as Dave got more in tune with his power, such incidents were possible. Now it had happened, and someone had almost seen it... "Well," he sighed, "I guess we have our next area of training."

"I just... I don't know what to say, Kurt..."

"I'm not sure there is anything to say. Come on, let's get lunch. You're buying."

And that was it, for the time being. But the question of how to train Dave to hone his instincts continued to haunt him. They'd finally come up against an issue that couldn't be answered through more generic sources on relaxation or discipline or whatever. It had taken a while, but the inevitable happened. Kurt had gotten so used to being able to scrounge answers from _somewhere_ that now that he didn't have any...

He hadn't felt so lost and anxious in a very long time.

* * *

**Wonder-ful**

"... You'll need regular checkups, of course, but as of right now, Mr. Hummel, you are cancer free."

It was as though reality itself became brighter, lighter, in just those words. Carole was hugging his dad. Finn was clapping him on the back. Kurt wanted to participate in both, but he had to sit down, just for a moment, before his knees gave way.

The doctor had already slipped out of the room by the time Kurt trusted his legs again. He swept his dad up in a relieved embrace. "I don't want to say I told you so..." Burt muttered in Kurt's ear.

"Come on, Dad..."

"I told you I was going to be fine."

"Yes, yes, you did, and feel free to lord it over me for the rest of my life."

"I think I will."

It was almost physically painful to break the embrace, but Kurt forced himself to. "Um, could everyone excuse me for a second?" The three other Hummel-Hudsons were too busy chattering (Carole was talking a mile a minute about a big celebratory dinner, and how Burt's diet could be suspended for just one evening, an idea Burt seemed very enthusiastic about), so Kurt slipped out of the room into a quiet area of the waiting lounge. Ignoring the "no cell phones" sign (he'd only be a minute, right?), he tapped at his smartphone's screen until he heard gentle trilling, then a click.

"Kurt?"

"He's okay." Finally the tears were starting to come; he wiped them away with the back of his hand. "They got the cancer."

Dave heaved a sigh of relief. "Fuck, that's great. I'll tell my dad the good news. I'm sorry I couldn't be there with you guys..."

"You had school. If you'd come, Dad probably would've yelled at you himself."

"It's just that he's been so great, with my dad and with me, that... I don't know, I feel bad for not being there for him."

"He knows you're here in spirit. That was more than enough."

"Okay, well... You tell him I'm really happy for him, and I'll see you when you get back, okay?"

"Yeah. Don't forget your exercises."

"Yes, _master_ ," Dave said with an eye roll Kurt could actually _hear_.

He giggled. "I like the sound of that. We need to make it a part of our repertoire."

"Good _bye_ , Kurt." Dave hung up, and he giggled again — not because it was funny, but out of waning tension and stress, out of sheer _relief_...

"Kurt?" He spun at the sound of his name; Finn was standing behind him, eyebrows raised in question. "I was wondering where you were."

"Oh, I was just telling Dave the good news. I... Finn, God, I was so scared. Thank you so much for being here for Dad while I was in New York. I think I would've gone insane without you." He wrapped his arms around his stepbrother's chest. "Thank you so much."

"You're welcome." Finn returned the hug. "See, bro? I told you. Everything's going to be all right."

* * *

**The Quarterback**

They were sitting in the living room, silent. It was a familiar scene; one much like it had happened around Christmas. And now history was repeating itself, once more over tragedy.

Kurt was staring down at his phone, willing it to ring again and say there'd been a terrible mistake, Finn was alive, everything was okay. Dave was hunched over, face buried in his hands, shoulders heaving. Santana was the most outwardly unaffected, keeping an eye on the others, but she'd just picked apart her fifteenth tissue in as many minutes.

Rachel? She was in her room, sans Brody. Her pain was too sharp for anyone, even her closest friends, to share.

The funeral (for a nineteen year old — an obscenity) was lovely, of course, as lovely as such events can get. The New Directions memorial too was lovely — Dave had talked about how Finn was one of his first real friends, one of the first to accept his sexuality, always ready with a sympathetic ear and a friendly smile.

Right after the memorial, Dave disappeared. Kurt only had a moment of panic ( _Not Dave too, no please..._ ), but was quickly calmed by a text: "visiting finn". It seemed like a good idea.

Kurt drove to the cemetery. Automatically, his feet took him past angels and crosses. The sky was clear and blue, the wind whistling, and the day had no right to be so nice, not when Finn was dead and not able to enjoy it. The cemetery was empty — it was the middle of a weekday, so of course it would be — so it was easy to spot the broad, heavy silhouette in the distance. Especially easy because Kurt knew that area, shaded by an oak tree. He knew it all too well, and he'd been introduced to it only days before.

Dave was kneeling over something; Kurt knew it was a plaque set in the ground. "FINNEGAN CHRISTOPHER HUDSON," it said. Kurt fought back the tears.

As he approached, Dave's voice started to carry on the breeze. "I have something to tell you, man." His head was bowed, his words addressed directly to those cold bronze letters. "You have to promise not to freak out, okay? No, it's nothing bad, I swear. I just need you to stay calm. You promise?" Kurt stopped behind Dave, leaning against the tree, watching silently. "Okay, here it is: I... I'm a telekinetic." Dave gave a pained chuckle. "That means I can move shit with my mind." A pause. "No, I'm serious. Look." Dave lifted his hand; a quarter (an ironic choice that didn't escape Kurt) rose from his palm and hovered in the air. "Seriously, it's not a trick. Poke at it or whatever. See for yourself. It's real." Another pause; if Kurt closed his eyes, he could see Finn's astonishment, his wide eyes and gaping mouth. He almost laughed. "Yeah, it's really true. I've been able to do this for a long time. Kurt knows... No, don't get mad at him for not telling you, we needed to keep this secret. And so do you." The quarter began to shake in the air. "Why am I telling you? Because... because you're my friend. Because I needed someone to talk to about this. Because I love you and I trust you and I wanted you to know this important thing about me..." The quarter jingled as it bounced off the grave marker. Dave collapsed over it, sobbing.

Finally, Kurt stepped forward. He wrapped his arms around Dave's shoulders, his tears spotting Dave's jacket just as Dave's were spotting Finn's marker.

"Why, Kurt?" Dave's choked voice said. "I have this incredible power and it's all useless, I couldn't even save one of my best friends, and..."

"Shh," Kurt said as soothingly as he could through his sorrow. "It's not your fault. Finn would be the first one to tell you that. Sometimes these things... just happen, and there's nothing anyone can do about it."

"Then what's the point? Why am I a fucking telekinetic if I can't even— What's the point...?"

Kurt didn't answer; he didn't have an answer. Not for this, not for any of this. There was no reason for Carole to be falling apart or Rachel to be paralyzed with anguish or Dave to be blaming himself for being human under the telekinesis. Yet there they were, human and psychic, stepbrother and friend, clinging to each other as they let out their grief together.

* * *

**Vigilante**

It was complete coincidence that Kurt was able to find out what was going on. Had he taken a few minutes to get coffee before class that day, if he'd had to use the bathroom, if he'd stopped to tie his shoelaces... He wouldn't have overheard the conversation between his Acting For the Stage classmates and who knows how things would've turned out then?

But as it happened, his entrance into the classroom was almost perfectly timed. The center of the little story session was Nancy, an acting major whose hefty body shape caused many to dismiss her before ever finding out about her almost chameleonic ability to inhabit a role, as though every cell of her was born her character. This morning, though, it seemed that the star of her drama was herself.

"... I ignored him, of course, and went on with my jog. I actually didn't see him follow me, but he must have, because by the time I got three blocks, I happened to look over my shoulder, and there he was, right behind me. I tried speeding up, but I'd already been running for so long I was pretty exhausted. He caught up with me, and..." She inhaled sharply at the memory. "He grabbed me."

One of the other girls (Cara? Carlie?) gasped. "Ohmigod..."

"He dragged me into an alley and he was grabbing at my sweatshirt..." Nancy shuddered. "I tried to scream, but he clapped his hand over my mouth." One of the other girls grabbed her hand and held it tight; Nancy nodded and smiled appreciatively. "But that's when..."

"When...?" a listener prompted.

"All of a sudden, the guy collapses. Like, he just _dropped_ , like someone bashed him over the head or something. Standing at the mouth of the alley was this guy — he must've been the one who did it. I couldn't see his face; it was kind of dark and he was wearing a hoodie. He asks me if I'm okay, I tell him yes. He says to call the cops and he just... walks off."

"Wow," another of the gathered girls said breathlessly. "It's like you got saved by a superhero!"

Those words set off alarm bells in Kurt's mind, as did those that followed from Nancy. "I know! Funny thing is, we were pretty far down the alley. I have no idea how he did it; I didn't see him get anywhere close to us, or run back to where I saw him standing. Oh!" She drew a sketch pad out of her backpack; in addition to her prodigious acting skills, Nancy was also a talented artist. Kurt would've been envious had he not been a multiple threat himself, albeit in different arenas. "I drew a picture of him." She flipped a few pages, and the instant Kurt saw it, he gasped.

"E-excuse me," he managed to stammer, "can I see it?"

"Of course." She handed over the sketch pad, and now that he was looking at it closer, he could see that no, his eyes weren't deceiving him. The figure was tall and broad shouldered, wearing jeans and a black hoodie with hood up and shadows completely cloaking his face. Nancy had quite an eye for detail; she even included a small white patch on the left sleeve's elbow...

"Can you tell Mr. Ackerman I wasn't feeling well?" Before anyone could question or reply to him, Kurt strode out of the classroom. He was getting an A in this course anyway, and he had more important things to do.

He tapped his foot practically the entire subway ride to the Columbia campus. His repeated texts got no response, but he did get one sent to someone else. "sure ill be there." And sure enough, Randy was waiting to let him into the dorms.

"Hey, Kurt. Dave's not back from the gym yet. What was so important?"

Kurt put on his calmest, most charming, most normal smile. "Oh, you know, fashion emergency. I can't find my orange scarf, and I think I might've dropped it in your room the last time I was visiting Dave. Could I possibly go up with you and check?"

"No problem. Come on."

Kurt followed him to the dorm room, where he immediately set upon Dave's closet. Randy raised an eyebrow. "Well, if Dave found it, it would most likely be in here." Randy shrugged and put his earbuds in while Kurt rummaged.

Finally, he found what he was looking for, and it wasn't his scarf. Sneaking a glance back at Randy, who was busy with PC gaming, Kurt shoved what he'd come for into his messenger bag. "Found it! Thanks!" Randy gave a wave without even looking up from his computer screen as Kurt left the room.

As soon as he was out on the street, he texted Dave again, this time with a command: "We need to talk. Where can we meet?" He waited impatiently for a response; fortunately for all involved, Dave had apparently finished his workout, as a reply came within two minutes: "butler?" Kurt nodded to himself and headed for Butler Library. Kurt leaned against a post, foot tapping once more, until Dave showed up, still shiny with sweat, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder.

"Hey, Kurt. What's going on?"

"We need privacy." He cocked his head towards the library building.

"Uh... Okay." Dave used his student ID to get them in, and led Kurt to a private study room. He snapped on the light and shut the door. "All right, privacy. What did you want to—" Kurt opened his messenger bag and, without a word, whipped something out and tossed it onto the desk between them. It was a black hoodie.

Kurt pointed to the white stain on the left sleeve's elbow. "I remember how that happened. You hit your elbow on wet paint in Central Park."

Dave's eyes flickered between Kurt's face and the hoodie. "Uh... I'm not exactly sure what you're getting at here, but—"

"Oh, cut the crap, David! You know _exactly_ what's going on! That girl you saved a few nights ago? She goes to NYADA. If she hadn't, I might never have known!" He was starting to scream; he had to consciously tell himself to lower his voice. "What the hell are you doing? Are you just walking around dangerous places, looking for someone to save? Are you?!"

"Don't ask me to stop, Kurt." Dave's voice almost as icy as Kurt's. At least he was doing Kurt the courtesy of not denying it anymore.

"Ask?" Kurt said in disbelief. "No, I won't ask. I'm _telling_ you to stop! My god, Dave, she knew something was going on the instant you used your power! How could you be so reckless—"

"I'm not going to stop."

If he'd been calmer, Kurt might have noticed all the ways in which Dave's responses were uncharacteristic, but he was too worked up to pay attention to more than the surface words. "No, you are, and that's final. I'm not going to let you expose yourself—"

"Maybe I should!" Dave's voice was trembling, on the edge of cracking. "Maybe I should tell everybody what I can do! It's better than hiding like a fucking coward! It's better than being afraid all the time! It's better than..." Dave slid into a chair. "It's better than having power but not doing anything with it like a fucking useless..." He collapsed into a chair and buried his face in his hands.

 _Useless_... That single word explained everything. The anger draining from him like someone pulled a plug, Kurt sat in the chair across from Dave, trembling. "Oh, God, Dave... Is this because of Finn...?"

"I have to make up for it, Kurt," Dave sobbed through his hands. "I couldn't save Finn, but I've saved so many people, but it's not enough and— Fuck, Kurt, I miss him so much but he'd be so ashamed of me—"

"No!" Kurt leaped from his chair and knelt by Dave's side. "You don't really believe that, David. You can't."

"He was gonna be a teacher. He wanted to help kids like he'd been helped. And what the fuck do I do with this fucking gift of mine? _Nothing_. Because _I'm_ nothing, and—"

"David," Kurt said as sternly as he could, "Finn would have been the _last_ person to make you feel ashamed for not telling the world about your power. He loved you. He would never have wanted you to sacrifice yourself out of guilt, especially not over him."

"H-he would've wanted me to be a hero..."

"He would've understood your need to be prudent. He would've wanted you to be safe, because he was your friend, and he cared about you. I think if he could see you now, he would've said something like, um..." He put on his best Hudson voice. "'What the fuck, dude? I'm not ashamed of you. And you don't need to do anything for me; I'm kinda _dead_ , y'know.'"

Dave laughed, though whether out of humor or hysteria, Kurt had no idea. "I need to do this, Kurt," he finally said. "Not just for Finn, for me. I need... I need to feel like I'm doing _something_. Please don't make me stop."

Kurt held Dave's shoulder tightly. "If — _if_ — you keep on doing this, you can't with this kind of mindset. You'll take unnecessary risks, you'll feel like you need to sacrifice more and more of yourself to make the guilt stop. Then Finn really would be ashamed of you." Dave's face was still buried in his hands, but he heard Dave's breath hitch. Kurt took a second to collect himself. What he was about to say next, he'd considered a lot since Finn's funeral, but inertia kept him from following through. Now, though, he had even more reason to do it. Now he wouldn't be doing it just for his own sake, but for Dave's. "I think... I think I want to try grief counseling. I don't know if I really need it or not, but it can't hurt to talk to somebody and see what happens. Will you come with me? Maybe we can ask Rachel and Santana if they want to go too."

"I don't know if I—"

"Please, Dave." Kurt felt tears swimming in his eyes. "Finn's gone. But I need you. I need my friend. Please..."

Dave finally looked up, his face streaked with wetness. "O-okay." He sucked snot through his nose. "Kurt, I'm so sorry..."

Kurt took Dave in his arms, rocking the much bigger young man gently. "Just promise me: if you have to play hero, be more careful, okay? You can't do anyone any good if you get hurt or worse, and... I just lost my stepbrother. I don't want to lose my best friend too." His guilt at playing this card warred with his need to keep Dave safe and whole. The fact that he said it was a sure sign of which was winning.

"I... I will, I promise. Just don't leave me, Kurt, please don't leave me..."

"Stop talking nonsense, Dave. I'm right here. I'll always be right here..."

Despite all the tears, despite all the sorrow, somehow something deep within Kurt stirred. It wasn't hope, not exactly, but for some reason, for the first time in almost a month, he almost felt like things would be okay.

* * *

**A Katy or a Gaga**

"A cover band?" Adam sipped at his sake as a waitress smoothly slid a plate of sushi onto the table between him and Kurt.

"Yes! I've already gotten Santana and Dani on board, and I'm hoping my ad will produce more talent. I already asked Dave, but all he did was laugh, the bastard." He grimaced at the memory as he picked up a piece of _Inari-zushi_ with his chopsticks. "I'd have asked you, but you already said you were busy..."

"Ah, about that... Kurt, I really hope I'm not out of line here, but..." Adam hesitated, biting his lower lip, before continuing. "It's just that you've been so tired for months now, and... I worry about you. Are you sure that adding a band to your to do list is a good idea?"

It seemed that all Adam did lately was worry about Kurt, which was one reason why they were at this restaurant, Kurt's treat. Adam had been a persistent figure at the Bushwick apartment in the days after Finn's death, but mostly as a background presence: quietly cooking, picking up discarded items their owners were too lost in their own emotions to even notice, placing glasses of wine in Santana's outstretched hand whenever it was empty. Kurt, to his eternal shame, didn't even register Adam's presence until Dave told him one day that Adam had stopped by Columbia with a basket of scones for him and Randy, sent directly from family in England. Only then did the memories, greyed out by mourning, come into sharp focus. When Kurt returned home, Adam was indeed there, giving Rachel a cup of hot coffee. Kurt immediately gave the man a huge hug and a tearful apology. All Adam did was return the hug, and gently say, "I had friends back home who kept me and my family together after my baby cousin passed. All I'm doing is paying it forward."

God, Kurt thought, what had he done to deserve this man?

Thanks in part to Adam's efforts, in part to counseling, and in part to just plain and simple time, Kurt could sense that they all were starting to heal. There was still a lot of pain, a lot of memories, a lot of unresolved feelings, but all their lives were going on, and they were slowly accepting that. They'd had a lot of help getting to that point, though, and not just Adam's. Despite still living at the apartment, Brody had shown a level of maturity that Kurt hadn't been sure he was capable of and generally made himself scarce, mostly appearing for meals and sleeping on the couch. The only contact Kurt had seen him make with Rachel in weeks was a hug a couple of days after they got the news; he'd said, "When you're ready, we'll talk. I'll be here." It was honestly a relief, even if Rachel was torn; she needed a little simplicity in her life, a little time to mourn, and not having Brody around made that a lot easier for her.

Their lives would never be fully restored, not to what they once were, but they were actually starting to _live_ again. Finn, he was sure, would've been pleased. And that brought Kurt back to the band.

"Well, it won't start up until the spring term at NYADA ends, so that'll be okay. And I feel like this is something I need to do, you know? Life in New York has always been about pursuing dreams for me, and this band could give me a leg up in my future performing career."

"I understand that, I swear, I just... Just tell me if you ever need any help, all right?"

"You've already so much for all of us..."

"I wouldn't call a little picking up here and there that much..."

"In our state, it was. It was huge, and I'm still sorry I didn't notice sooner. You helped Rachel, Santana, and Dave so much, and I lo—" Kurt hesitated. Was it too soon? Was this really the time? Did he really mean it? There were too many questions, and he had enough on his plate. He needed to get his head on straight and his life in at least somewhat better order before he could really think about this. "I'm really grateful."

Adam smiled gently, squeezing Kurt's hand; for some reason Kurt wondered if his boyfriend (god, his _boyfriend,_ his first boyfriend...) somehow knew what he'd been about to say... and didn't mind that he didn't. "Well, you're welcome, then." He poured them both cups of green tea from a ceramic kettle. "So how's Dave been spending his time lately?" He nearly jumped out of his chair as Kurt spewed hot tea out of his mouth, offering a napkin as Kurt sputtered and coughed. "Are you all right?"

"I... I'm fine. Just went down the wrong pipe," Kurt lied, wondering if this was how Dave felt all the time. He hated, _hated_ keeping something so big from Adam, but "it wasn't his secret to tell" seemed laughably inadequate. Besides, how could he tell Adam, "He's been spending his free time stalking crime-ridden areas looking for people to save with his telekinesis"? At least Dave seemed to be taking Kurt's concerns about exposure to heart; regular searches of blogs and Facebook for signs that Dave's vigilantism had been noticed by a larger audience turned up nothing. For now. "He's... He's fine. Just busy with his freshman year coming to an end."

Adam nodded. "I haven't seen him by lately, so I was wondering. Maybe we should all go out for a night on the town sometime soon. You, me, Dave, Rachel, Brody, and Santana." He grinned, white toothed and charming. "I suggest karaoke."

"As long as we tie Rachel down first so she doesn't hog the machine. You should hear Dave's voice. I can't believe he stopped singing..."

"Then it's a date! An odd sort of date, but still a date. And if you want me to shove Dave onto the stage myself, I will."

"Oh my god, are you perfect."

"Hardly. Just lucky." He raised his cup of tea towards Kurt and drank.

* * *

**The End of Twerk**

"So, Dave, what do you think?"

"..."

"Dave?"

"..."

"Dave, it's just a tattoo. Millions of people in this country have one."

"... I know... I just never... I didn't think you were the kind of guy to get... those..."

"So... you don't like it?"

"I didn't say that! I just... it's... new."

"That they are. I figured you should know about it now, before Rachel or Santana started running their mouths. So what do you think?"

"I think... it'll take some getting used to."

"Hm. Fair enough."

"But do you really believe it? That it gets better?"

"Sometimes I think it's the only thing that keeps me going some days."

"... Well, what does Adam think? He's the one whose opinion should count here."

"Oh, he likes it. In fact, I owe a lot of it to him. If he hadn't kept me sober the day I got it, who knows what I might've done?"

"Kurt Hummel with a drunken regret tattoo? I would've _paid_ to see that."

"And that, David Karofsky, is why you'll always be a Neanderthal, telekinetic powers or no."

"Ouch."

* * *

**City of Angels**

"So that's it..." Kurt looked down at his phone. "New Directions is over..."

"I'm sorry, Kurt. I know what that club meant to you. Fuck, it meant a hell of a lot to me, and I was only in it one year. But maybe it'll come back someday..."

"I keep losing so much... Finn, New Directions, Pamela Lansbury..." Kurt looked up; his vision was going swimmy. "When will I stop losing things, Dave...?"

"Oh, fuck, Kurt..." Dave reached over and wrapped his arms around Kurt; the sniffling Kurt returned the embrace. "It'll be okay. Think about what you still have. You still have your dad, Rachel, Adam, NYADA, me... Shit, why am I the one having to tell you this? This is supposed to be your speech to me. This is too weird, Hummel, I gotta stop..."

Kurt laughed through his tears, gripping Dave's shirt even tighter. "You're terrible at it." His voice dropped in volume. "But thank you."

"We'll go back to Lima and say goodbye to New Directions. Then we're going to return to New York, you'll go out with Adam and have hot kinky sex..." Dave laughed as Kurt punched him in the arm. "Ow, what the hell? All those dance classes must've put some fucking muscle on you, finally." Kurt punched him again. "Ow! Bully! Where the fuck is a GSA when you need one?"

"Get out of my face!" Kurt quoted, chuckling.

Dave roared. "Extraordinarily ordinary!" It might have seemed odd to those who knew that they could joke about that day, but it had been so long, and they'd overcome so many more serious obstacles, that the _kiss_ seemed so... unimportant, like getting a scrape on the playground or missing a bus by a couple of minutes. Besides, that _kiss_ , no matter where it came from or what it meant, had given them... this. Dave Karofsky and Kurt Hummel, friends.

So maybe it wasn't so unimportant after all.

"You're right," Kurt said once they'd both recovered. "A door is closing, but a lot more remain open. And maybe... maybe it will open again someday. I just... I wanted other kids like me at that school to have the same outlet I did. The same hope I did."

"All that came from you, Kurt, not the glee club. And hey, once you're world famous, you can tell everyone your story. Shame McKinley into reinstating New Directions."

"Now there's an idea! Come on, let's go to lunch, and we can discuss more ways I can abuse my future power."

"Right behind you, Kurt. Right behind you."

* * *

**Bash**

"Congratulations on your highly successful freshman year."

"Thanks," Dave said. "I wouldn't say 'highly,' but it went better than I thought it would."

Kurt and Dave were strolling to the Bushwick apartment after an evening performance by One Three Hill. Summer was beginning to dawn over New York City, a muggy film of unseasonable humidity hanging over everything — perfect time for silks and lighter fashions for Kurt. Dave, of course, still had his baggy t-shirts and baggy jeans, with his rather infuriating refusal to let Kurt shop for him. Seriously, it was like he just didn't care!

"Then you should've raised your expectations," Kurt said. "After all, you got into Columbia, even dealing with... everything you're dealing with. That says a lot about you."

"I guess, but I still feel like I'm just barely treading water. Sometimes I wonder if I'm ever going to get some kind of break."

"I do too," Kurt said softly. The two walked in silence for half a block, yelling from a distant apartment and pulsing bass the only soundtrack. "Artie and Sam are moving here at the end of the summer."

"Yeah, I saw on Facebook. It'll be good to see them again."

"We should all go out to celebrate once they're here."

"As long as it's not karaoke again. I swear, you must've put Adam up to that."

Kurt fluttered his eyelashes in pure virgin innocence. "I have no idea what you mean."

"Drop the act, Hummel. It's not fooling anyone." Dave stopped short as they passed by a well-lit bodega. "Oh, hey, I'm gonna get a drink. Want anything?"

Kurt shook his head. "No, thanks." He peeked inside. "Ugh, it's like a sauna in there. I'm going to wait outside where it's cool."

"Okay. Shouldn't take too long." Kurt watched as Dave stepped inside the store, then wandered towards a nearby alley, hoping to get a good cross breeze. A bead of sweat trickled down his forehead and hung from the tip of his nose; Kurt wiped it away in annoyance.

A strange sound emanated from the alley as he approached. Kurt's eyes widened, as he remembered Christmas, a fight... It was flesh violently slamming into flesh. His feet were no longer his own; they gently crept towards the alley, the noises growing stronger. He gingerly peeked around the corner.

The alley was grimy, not very well lit, but more than enough light leaked from overhead to make out the scene: a man, lying on the ground, with two other men standing over him. These two were laughing, kicking him in the back and the chest.

"How do you like it, faggot?" one of them taunted. "How do you like a couple of _real_ men?"

The man on the ground didn't answer — probably couldn't. He made a pained choking sound.

"Fucking fags. Coming into a good neighborhood," the other attacker sneered as he launched another vicious kick. "Makes me fucking sick."

Kurt didn't even think. If he had, he had to admit, he wouldn't have done it. But anger and outrage had its hold on him; he marched directly into the alley. "Hey!" he cried. The two men froze. "Leave him alone!"

As Kurt stepped into the light, both attackers seemed to relax, mocking grins creeping over their faces. "Oh, another one, huh? This your boyfriend?" one of them asked the victim on the ground, nudging his side with the toe of his shoe. He was barely conscious, if at all, only able to reply with a groan. The heat of anger stirred even hotter in Kurt.

"I said, leave him alone, or—" The guy closest to him moved so fast, he had no time to react. Kurt's breath was knocked out of his chest as he was slammed against the wall, held an inch off the ground by his collar.

"Or what?" the man spat. "You're gonna give me AIDS? Huh?"

"Two for one, bro!" the other said. He picked up a piece of pipe from a trash heap and sauntered towards Kurt, clapping it in his other hand like a baseball bat. "Whaddya think we should do with this one, huh?" He raised the pipe and ran its rusted, jagged edge along Kurt's jawline. He didn't shudder; he didn't want to give them the satisfaction. "How about after we're done, we pose 'em like they're fucking?"

His friend howled. "Oh, man, we gotta do that! And take pictures!" His grip on Kurt's collar tightened.

"Shit, yeah! And then we could—"

It all happened at once. In fact, it was over so fast that Kurt barely had time to process any of it. Later, when searching his memory, he thought he figured out a sequence of events, but he could never be sure.

The first thing that definitely happened was that the pipe dropped. He remembered that distinctly because he was so acutely aware of the feeling of cold, sharp metal against his skin that its sudden absence stood out. Sometime between that and the clang of the pipe hitting the pavement was the crunch — a sickening snapping of bone. Then the scream: the pipe wielder's shriek of agony, blood chilling in its intensity and anguish. The scream cut off as his head jerked back, and he fell to the ground, perhaps mercifully unconscious.

The other guy, the one holding Kurt's collar, barely had time to turn towards his buddy before his entire body was swept backwards as though by a crook yanking him off a vaudeville stage, with such force that his fingers were ripped from Kurt's clothing. He barely saw the man slam against the alley wall opposite before his field of vision was filled with Dave's concerned face.

"Kurt! Oh my god, are you all right?"

The adrenaline was finally wearing off, and his entire nervous system felt like it was shaking. "I... I think so."

"You aren't hurt? They didn't hurt you, did they?"

"No, I'm fine, Dave. Really." _Breathe in, breathe out. Steady... that's the key... Don't hyperventilate..._ "I'm fine."

"God, I had no idea what happened to you! You just disappeared and I was looking for you, and those two assholes were grabbing you and I—"

"Dave!" Kurt cried, grabbing his arm. "They were attacking someone else...!"

Both young men turned, and both rushed to the side of the man laying on the ground. To Kurt's relief, he was breathing, his eyelids fluttering, but he was bloody and obviously in pain. "I'm going to call 911," Kurt said, reaching into his pocket for his cell phone. "Then we can—"

"Oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit..." Dave's stunned mantra interrupted his train of thought. Kurt looked up; Dave's back was turned to him. He was staring down at the two attackers. Kurt rose and joined him, and gasped aloud.

The first guy — the one who held the pipe — had a gruesome compound fracture, jutting arm bone gleaming in the harsh overhead light. His jaw was hanging open, obviously broken. His companion was slumped against the alley wall, a splotch of crimson staining the brick above his head. His body was unnaturally twisted, blood dribbling from his mouth. Both were still breathing, but the extent of their injuries was plain. Kurt's gorge rose.

"I didn't mean..." Dave whispered. "I didn't mean to hurt them so bad... I just wanted to get them away from you." He turned towards Kurt. "I didn't mean to!" he cried desperately.

"I know. But you'd better go."

"Go...?"

"I need to call an ambulance for all three of them, and I don't want the police asking you any awkward questions. I'll tell them that I found those two guys this way. I obviously couldn't have done... that, so they'll believe me."

"But—!"

"Dave," Kurt said urgently, "the less you argue and the quicker you go, the faster I can call that ambulance. Please. Just do what I tell you. I'll meet you back at the apartment."

Dave opened his mouth, then shut it again. With one last despairing look at the carnage he'd created, he ran out of the alley and disappeared into the night. Sighing with relief, Kurt tapped 911 into his phone.

As it turned out, Kurt was entirely correct about the cops buying his story. What else could they do? Fortunately, the original assault victim wasn't seriously hurt, and quickly recovered. The two attackers... did not. In fact, one — the one thrown against the alley wall — didn't recover consciousness for days.

Kurt and Dave later found out through local media that the two were also identified as suspects in another hate crime that occurred just five blocks away a week previous. Under different circumstances, without Kurt and Dave in that particular alley on that particular night, those two would've continued their homophobic crusade off and on for months, worrying a community and injuring many others in the process. Neither of them knew that or could know that, but branding the two men as murderous thugs, as Kurt did, was still a logical conclusion.

"So they deserved to have me do that to them, because they're bad people?" Dave asked bitterly one afternoon while the apartment was empty and the news was out. Kurt was tempted — very tempted — to say yes, until Dave's next words sucked all the intent away. "I was a bad person once too." And oh god, so many things made sense now...

"Dave, you're nothing like them..."

"Yeah? Only because you stopped me. But if you hadn't, who knows what I might've done? Who knows how far I would've gone to keep anyone from thinking I was gay? Maybe I would've been just like those guys. Maybe I would've beaten you up, or worse."

"Dave, no...!"

Dave's fingers gripped his hair, his elbows propped on his legs. "I just wanted to stop them!" he cried with hunted, haunted eyes. "I just wanted to get that pipe away from you, get that guy's hands off you! I didn't want to hurt them! I swear I didn't..." His voice dropped so low that Kurt almost didn't hear him repeat, "I didn't..."

Kurt wondered for a brief instant how Dave's intent had gotten so out of control when he'd managed to subdue Cody and at least a dozen other criminals during his vigilante career without such serious trauma. But he only wondered for that brief instant, because the answer blazed hot in his mind: it wasn't himself or a random stranger Dave was defending that time — _it was Kurt_.

Nausea, even greater than what he felt when he saw those two shattered bodies in the alley, welled up within him.

"I finally did it. I hurt people with my power — hurt them bad."

"You didn't mean to."

"I don't know if that makes it any better."

"We'll get through this, Dave, just like all the other times. We'll work on your control. You'll be better, and this won't happen again."

Dave was silent and still for a long time. Kurt waited patiently until he finally said something. "I think I gave up on living a normal life a long time ago. But I still don't know what's left. I know I'm getting stronger, but I don't know how to handle it when neither of us knows what the fuck we're doing." He looked up at Kurt. "Do you have any answers, Kurt? Because I sure don't, and I'm hoping someone else does."

Kurt wanted to have the answers. He wanted to say something. Even if it was just empty platitudes, he knew Dave wanted, _needed_ , to hear something from Kurt, something to assure him that there was hope, that there was direction.

Instead, there was nothing.

The sun set. Rachel and Brody came home. Santana threw a sarcastic quip at them.

They hardly noticed. For still there was nothing.

* * *

**Final Recommendation**

"... Given the circumstances, I am initiating a forcible extraction. Contingency plans and cover stories are in place. I will execute as soon as I receive approval..."

* * *

**Another Point of View**

It had been weeks since the incident in the alley, but Dave could still see (and worse, _feel_ ) the whole thing every time he closed his eyes: leaving the bodega and not seeing Kurt. Striding down the street, looking for him. Seeing him in the alley, pinned to the wall by a thug while another caressed his cheek with a pipe. The panic. The need to get those guys away from Kurt _now_... First he had to get that pipe away from Kurt's head. Then knock both of them out. Use the power reach out with the power grab them with the power...

It happened so fast he didn't even _sense_ what he did as he did it. He was too focused on Kurt, concerned for Kurt... It was only when the danger passed, and he _saw_ what he'd done, that the horror hit him full in the face.

How long did he have? How long until his slipping control broke entirely? How long until just a passing whim, a stray thought, would destroy something... or someone? How long before he became a menace to everyone and everything around him... a menace his darker thoughts told him he always was, ever since high school?

Dave shuddered, even in the warm summer evening.

He was sleeping on the couch in Kurt's apartment while the Columbia dorms were closed; he thought about going back home, but Kurt was staying in New York for his band and work, and he couldn't be that far away from Kurt right now, not after everything that had happened. But with five occupants, even an apartment of that size felt crowded, so he went out for a walk to think, to clear his head. This particular neighborhood wasn't the best, but he knew he could defend himself.

Oh, god, could he defend himself.

He wondered, for a brief moment, if maybe _not_ defending himself would be a good thing. No one would have to know; Kurt would just think he was taken by surprise. Then he'd never hurt anyone again...

 _No... No! Kurt did_ not _make all those sacrifices for you so you could just throw your life away like some fucking ingrate! Man the fuck up, Karofsky!_ He shook his head violently, picking up his pace. Kurt and Rachel would not go to another funeral. They would not cry over another grave. Like it or not, deserving or not, they loved his sorry ass, and he couldn't repay their kindness that way.

Dave had just turned the corner, charging towards a destination he had no conception of, when he almost ran into someone familiar.

"Shit, sorry!"

"It's okay." The other person squinted, looking into his eyes. "Are you all right, Dave?"

"I..." Dave sighed. "Not really. But I'm a lot better now."

"Want to talk about it?" The other person slapped Dave on the shoulder; he barely felt the little pinprick that accompanied it, a prick that penetrated his t-shirt and dug into his flesh.

"No, not really. Not right now. I just... Hey, what are you doing here, anyway...?" He blinked; why was everything so off-kilter all of a sudden?

"Dave?" The voice was distorted, fading. "Dave, are you all right?"

He staggered, leaning against a wall. He felt himself sliding down towards the sidewalk, but he couldn't stop himself. "I feel..." His mouth felt like it was full of cotton, his tongue ten times its normal size. "I..."

"Go." Who the other person was talking to, he had no idea. But he heard, as if from a great distance, the distinctive sound of a van door sliding open. Rough hands grabbed him by the armpits, but he was in no condition to resist in any way.

He didn't even have time to formulate confusion, or a last thought, before unconsciousness overtook him.

* * *

**Missing**

Kurt read Dave's text for the tenth time.

"sorry kurt i have a lot to think through. going off the grid for a few days. dont worry about me. will text again soon."

It made a lot of sense; Dave had just been through some major trauma. He was on summer break, so he was free to travel. His backpack and some clothes had gone missing sometime during the night. And he'd talked a lot about hiking in the Adirondacks or the Catskills — going out somewhere he could clear his head and exercise his telekinetic muscles without fear.

Yes, it made a lot of sense.

But it was still _wrong_.

The text read like something Dave would write. It came from Dave's phone. The context of his life could reasonably have led him to write that text and go off. But every instinct in Kurt, every second of experience he had as Dave's friend, told him that there was something horribly _wrong_ going on. Dave wouldn't just leave without saying goodbye in person, not even for just a few days. He tried calling Dave's phone, but it went to voicemail. He'd even texted Randy in desperation, although he'd already gone home to Washington. He knew less than Kurt did.

Kurt turned his phone over in his hands. So he suspected something had happened to Dave. But what could he _do_? The police wouldn't investigate, not after just 14 hours, not when they had a text that said the "victim" had left of his own volition.

Oh, God, was this it? Was this the abduction he'd always feared? Had _they_ (whoever _they_ were) gotten hold of Dave?

Kurt feverishly prayed to a God he didn't believe in that they hadn't.

His phone trilled, causing Kurt to almost literally jump in his seat. It was the generic ringtone, and an unlisted number. Probably a telemarketer, but if there was even a chance it was Dave...! He tapped the Accept Call button.

"Hello?"

The voice on the other end said a name.

Kurt blinked. "Coach Sylvester?"

Sue Sylvester repeated the name. "That's who took your friend."

His throat felt as though it was closing. "H-how do you know he's gone?"

"I have sources," Sylvester said flatly. "You and your friend have not been subtle. I warned you, Kurt."

"I thought... I thought you said you couldn't help us anymore."

"Yeah, well, I'm feeling magnanimous," she drawled, "now that I've finally vanquished that den of mediocrity and tired relationship drama you were once a part of."

"And you think... _he_ took Dave?"

"Don't think — know."

"So he's... he's part of...?"

"A shadowy global organization that tracks down people with special talents. Yes. Is that so hard to believe?"

Kurt's head was reeling. This was way too much... "Even if he did... What can I do?"

"Talk to him."

Kurt blinked. "Talk... to him?"

"I do _not_ like having to repeat myself, Kurt. Make me do it and I'll buy NYADA and convert it into the Will Schuester Memorial Clown College. Now. Ask him about their safehouse in Miami, or their base outside Stockholm. That should rattle him enough to start the ball rolling."

"But... if he _did_ have something to do with Dave's disappearance... If he is part of some kind of conspiracy... What good will talking to him do?"

Sylvester sighed. Her voice took on a patronizing tone more expected from a frustrated elementary school teacher. "This group that has your friend... They actually approach decency. They're definitely a lot more moral than anyone else with their kind of clout. If you talk to them, there's a slight chance that they'll actually do the right thing by you and your friend. It's not much, but it's the only hope you have of ever seeing him again."

"I thought you said not to trust anyone."

"You shouldn't. I don't. Not even them — they did kidnap your friend, remember? I don't condone kidnapping... unless you're stuck in the middle of Panama and the river's about to crest." Sylvester cleared her throat. "Anyway. They're too self-righteous for their own good. But they do have..." Sylvester snorted. " _Good intentions_." She spoke those words as if she'd actually said something like "nuclear waste" or "dog crap". "You got lucky; pretty much anyone else, and he'd be gone forever. And you... You don't want to know about what some of them might have done to you."

Kurt's hand was slippery with sweat; he almost dropped the phone. "I'll do it." He heard himself say it, but he couldn't remember actually _deciding_. But then, this was Dave. She said this was his only chance... He had to take it, no matter what.

"All right. You know what you have to do. We won't be speaking about this again. Though if you do get yourself out of this mess, if you ever come back to Lima... I could use someone like you on my team. I think I could mold you into something glorious..."

Somehow the prospect scared him even more than anything else Sylvester said. "I'll... I'll keep that in mind." No sense antagonizing the crazy woman with the past that was apparently even darker than he'd dreamed. "Thank you... Coach."

"Good luck, Kurt." She cut off the connection without another word.

The apartment was empty, and would be for hours, with Rachel at _Funny Girl_ rehearsal and Santana off... doing whatever Santana did these days, so Kurt had a lot of time to think. Dangerous thing, thinking, especially with what he had to think about. He wanted to leave, wanted to _get away_ , wanted to talk to someone, but he couldn't. He couldn't leave, not when the person Coach Sylvester named could arrive at any moment. He couldn't talk to someone, because the person he would've talked to was the one missing. The one he had to find.

This was about Dave. It had to be about Dave. He had to be strong for Dave.

The apartment door opened; Kurt rose. It was him.

"Hey, Kurt."

It took Kurt two tries to get words out. "H-hey."

"Want some coffee?"

"N-no thanks."

"I could use some. What a day." The sound of coffee pouring into a mug was usually soothing, but right now, it had a hollow, sinister ring to it. But then, Kurt theorized, even a child's laughter would've probably had that quality for him right now.

"Um... Have you seen Dave lately?"

The casual look and shrug sickened Kurt's stomach. "No, I haven't. Why, is he not here?"

He had to do it. He had to. Coach Sylvester said this was the only way to find out what had happened to Dave. And he believed her — God help him, he believed her. Wasn't that why he did... those other things in the first place, the contingency plans he hadn't even told Dave about?

For Dave. This was for Dave. He took a deep breath and spoke in a loud, clear, ringing voice.

"Maybe he's at your organization's safehouse in Miami."

A coffee cup shattered on the wooden floor. Well, there it was.

"Or maybe," Kurt continued, "he's at your base outside Stockholm."

Brody Weston stared at Kurt, his nerveless fingers hanging at his side. Coffee pooled around his feet. "K-Kurt...?" he gasped.

Kurt's face hardened, and rage, pure righteous _fucking_ rage, poured through him. "Give him back."

"Kurt, you don't know what you're—"

" _Give him back_!" Kurt shrieked. "Give Dave back right the _fuck_ now!"

Brody approached him; Kurt stumbled backwards. "Kurt, listen to me—!"

"No. No!" Kurt rounded the couch, putting it between them. "Just... just stay away!"

"Kurt, calm down. I can explain—"

"The hell you can! I don't want your explanations. I want Dave. Right now." Brody opened his mouth. "I want Dave back _right now_!"

"Just give me a minute and _listen_ to me!"

"Obviously, you can't take your own advice," Kurt said coldly. He backed towards the door. "Maybe talking to the police will get you to pay attention. Or the newspapers. Or maybe even Rachel..."

In a flash of motion, Brody vaulted the couch, with much too much speed and grace and certainty for an ordinary college student. He slid past Kurt and threw his arms wide, blocking the apartment door.

"Move aside, Brody," Kurt snarled.

" _Listen_ , dammit! I know what you're thinking—"

"Oh, if you _knew_ what I was thinking, you'd be a lot more worried right now."

"... But we aren't going to hurt Dave. I swear, we would _never_ hurt a talent!"

"Talent"... the term was unfamiliar, but easily guessed by context. _They're definitely a lot more moral than anyone else with their kind of clout_ , Coach Sylvester had said. She'd been right about everything so far — he had to pray she was right about this. Or better, that she was even more cynical than was necessary. "And why," Kurt said, his voice calmer but still tense, like a high voltage wire, "should I believe you?"

Brody's shoulders heaved with a heavy sigh, and he closed his eyes. Then he opened them, and slowly raised his hand in front of him, palm up. Kurt's brows furrowed in confusion. Then he watched as a ball of flame burst to life above Brody's hand. Kurt gaped, the heat caressing his face and the flickering oranges casting ever-changing fingers of color across Brody's features.

"Because I'm one too," he said. "Because I'm just like Dave."


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting the last chapter a tad early, because there's no good reason not to.

**Decisions**

"Um... I'm not exactly sure where to start." By now Kurt's heart rate had returned to normal levels, and he and Brody were sitting on the couch. Brody certainly didn't look like any mental image Kurt had ever had of a pyrokinetic or an undercover agent or whatever he was; his head was bowed, his hands clutching at each other, bouncing his leg in a way that vibrated the entire couch, annoying Kurt more with each passing second. He, in fact, looked like what he was supposed to be: a normal college student. But how much of even this was an act? What could Brody possibly say now that he'd believe? Well, either way, he had to try to hold at least a halfway civil discussion with this man, for Dave's sake.

"How about the truth?" Kurt replied coldly. His hand rested atop his cell phone, but he had a feeling he wouldn't need it. If Brody was considering... drastic measures, he would've done them long before this.

"Well... I'm not really from Montana..."

Kurt threw his hands in the air. "Unbelievable. All the lies you've been telling, and _that's_ the truth you decide to start with? How about starting with something more basic, like is Brody Weston actually your name?"

Brody hesitated. "You... should just call me Brody for now," he said softly.

"Terrific. I'm supposed to just trust everything you say when you can't even tell me your real name."

"I shouldn't be _telling_ you anything at all!" Brody snapped. "What I _should_ have done was either disappear or call my handler, and— But I didn't. You know why?"

"Why? Please enlighten me; I'd be _delighted_ to know."

"Because I like you, okay?" Kurt stared; that was, to say the least, the absolute _last_ answer he'd expected to hear. "Because all these months I've been keeping an eye on you, I actually like you. The way you've been supporting Dave... I've only been doing this a short time. I've seen a dozen kids like him, with all kinds of family and friends, and you're the first one, _the first one_ , who _ever_ treated someone like him like a human being — like something other than a monster or a time bomb or an easy buck. I was always told there were good people out there, but you were the first I've ever met in my field work, and... I respect your courage in staying that way, even with everything Dave can do. I respect that a _damn_ lot."

"That's very flattering," Kurt said dryly. "And I'm sure you took Dave because you respected him too."

"Fucking right I do!" Brody said, his voice sharpening to a knife's edge. "If you could only understand how much he reminds me of myself... If you think that I'm going to hurt him, or let anyone else—"

"And what about Rachel?" Kurt crossed his arms, not even registering any satisfaction at the upper hand he seemed to have over Brody in this entire conversation. "Was playing with her heart part of your job? Because I'm her friend, and I'm getting _damn_ tired of guys deceiving her for their own ends—"

"It wasn't supposed to go that far!" he cried, showing the first cracks of emotion that weren't shame (or what Kurt hoped was shame). "I was just supposed to be a friend, someone she'd invite to meet her roommate and his friends. I was just supposed to be a background character: ignored, but always in a position to observe. But she..." He licked his lips. "She's so forceful and _alive_ , she..." He leaned towards Kurt, eyes wide, as if desperate to make him _understand_. "Yeah, I lied to her. I lied to all of you about a lot of things. But I have never _once_ lied about my feelings, not to her, not to anyone."

"You'll excuse me if I don't take you at your word," Kurt said. "So who do you work for?"

Brody sucked in a breath. Despite his lack of sympathy, Kurt knew that if he told the truth, he'd most likely be taking a huge risk. Besides, every word out of his mouth so far could still be a lie. But to what end? Again, if the purpose was just to spirit Dave away, they'd already done it. They'd have nothing to gain by engaging Kurt now. Hell, they'd benefit by silencing him... one way or another. The fact that he was still alive, still free, told Kurt that there was a chance that Brody was telling the truth about liking him and Dave, that Coach Sylvester was right about their being moral. As long as there was that chance, Kurt knew he had to seize it. It was the only hope he had of ever seeing Dave again — Sylvester had been very clear on that point, and he had no choice but to believe her.

"It doesn't have an official name," Brody said. "When you're that secret, there's no real point. But us grunts sometimes call it 'The Agency.'"

"As in the CIA?"

Brody shook his head. "These guys make the CIA look like the Girl Scouts. It's not a government agency, but it's not private either. It's funded by the government — by a bunch of governments around the world, actually, and a few corporations and ultra-wealthy families — but it doesn't really answer to any of them. Its sole mission is to keep track of people with... talents."

"Like you and Dave." Brody nodded. "And do what with them?"

"Not to take over the world. I know that's what you were thinking." Kurt's face remained impassive. Brody sighed and went on. "They train them... us. In how to control our powers. They research how powers work and how they're possible — without hurting us, I mean," he hastily added. "When we do have control, we either stay to help with research, or we're sent out to find other people like us, make sure they're okay. And if they're not, we bring them in."

"Sounds _so_ benevolent," Kurt said sarcastically. "I'm sure they're doing it out of the kindness of their hearts."

"Actually, yeah. They're doing it because it's the right thing to do," Brody growled in a low voice. "Without them, there'd be a free-for-all between the exploiters, the scientists, the religious fanatics..."

"I was... warned once about organizations who'd use people with powers for their own ends..."

"Yeah, they're out there. Some of 'em are even funded by the same people that fund us. But we're the top dog so far, and I thank God every day for that."

Brody certainly seemed sincere... but he'd also seemed like a normal NYADA student too. "You said before that you find other people like you," Kurt said carefully. "What happens if that person is using their abilities..." Kurt wanted to say "for evil," but just the words seemed too silly, too comic book, and this was deadly serious. "... to hurt others?"

"That depends... on why, and whether they can be rehabilitated."

"If they can't...?"

"Then... they can't be free. They're too much of a danger — just to their victims, but to themselves, and every other talent out there."

"You just hold them. No trial, no notice. They just vanish, I'll bet."

"They're treated well," Brody said sharply. "A lot better than a civilian prison would. And it doesn't happen that often—"

"And that's supposed to make me feel better?" Kurt asked in disbelief. "My God, you're already part of what's basically an international kidnapping ring, and I'm supposed to believe that you people are some kind of guardian angels—"

Brody leaped to his feet and began pacing the room in agitation. "You can _believe_ whatever the fuck you want!" He stopped, leaning forward over the back of the couch, staring Kurt straight in the eyes. Kurt didn't move, flinch, or even blink. "When I was fourteen, I burnt my house down in my sleep," Brody hissed. "My parents, my sisters, all dead. Because of _me_." Now Kurt almost recoiled. The anguish in Brody's eyes, so pure and intense... It was too raw to be anything but genuine. "I was the only survivor. Fire of any kind can't hurt me. When the firefighters found me, I was laying on the front lawn. I begged, _begged_ them to kill me. Because I was a murderer. A monster." He exhaled, long and slow. He sat back down on the couch again, slumping and staring off into nowhere... or perhaps into memory. "The Agency found me... just ahead of a bunch of others, it turned out. They took me in, they taught me how to control my powers, they gave me _years_ of therapy until I understood that what happened wasn't my fault." He looked back up at Kurt with almost dull eyes. "I didn't have anyone else. Everyone in the world who ever meant anything to me died in that fire. The people at the Agency... The doctors, the agents, the other talents... They became my family. I _let_ them become family, because they did what family's supposed to do: they supported me, educated me, and helped me in any way I needed. If that's not what a fucking guardian angel does, then there's no such thing."

Kurt had to swallow before he could speak. "Fine. They took you in because you had nowhere else to go. That's great. But Dave _has_ family. He _has_ friends. And you just _snatched_ him off the street without even asking—"

"We _had_ to!" Brody yelled. "In case you haven't noticed, Dave keeps getting stronger and stronger."

"How the hell would you know that?"

"I _do_. It's my _job_."

"Come to think of it, how did you find out about Dave in the first place?"

"We have ways. Not to mention you two haven't exactly been completely careful."

"Already a Man in Black at your tender age. You must be kind of spy savant." Kurt couldn't remember the last time he was feeling this bitchy and sarcastic. But it was better than the fear that was simmering under the surface — though whether it was for himself, for Dave, or for them both, he couldn't say, and didn't want to consider.

"I started young, remember? Besides, I run everything by my handler first, and she usually agrees with me. Dave needs us. He's already the most powerful telekinetic we've ever found, and it was only a matter of time before something gave! Hell, I think it's already happened! I know what he did in that alley two weeks ago! He's a good kid; you saw how he reacted then. How do you think he'll feel when he seriously hurts someone he actually cares about... you... _himself_. How do you think he'll react if he's forced to carry the kind of guilt I had when I was a kid?"

_I wouldn't have to worry about my power or never finding a boyfriend and the fear I live with every fucking minute of every fucking day would finally stop_... Kurt tried to speak, tried to argue... But all that came out of his mouth was an "I..."

"Why did you two drive to New York instead of flying?" Brody pressed. Kurt still didn't answer; he couldn't even ask how he'd known that. "Maybe it was because you were both afraid of what could happen if Dave had to spend hours on a plane thirty thousand feet in the air? You've done really good with him — a hell of a lot better than most people could ever do on their own. But I'm certain you've figured out by now that there's only so much you're _able_ to do, and you blew past that limit a long time ago. The Agency has experts. It has resources. It has everything Dave needs to learn, _really_ learn, how to control his talent. You ever wish he had professional help with his powers? Well, we're it. _We're_ the professionals. So yeah, we grabbed him. We usually don't. I did it because I didn't have a choice. I didn't want to see him or you _destroyed_ because of a stupid accident. I would've loved to ask him, but I didn't think I had the time. I made a judgment call, and—"

"A fucking _stupid_ judgment call!" Kurt snarled, anger returning his voice. "I'm tired of Dave and I being helpless victims of circumstance. I'm tired of us being carried along because 'we had no choice.' I _demand_ you bring Dave back. I _demand_ you do it right and _let him decide._ "

Brody straightened his back, returning Kurt's glare defiantly. "Yeah? How the hell are you going to 'demand' I do _anything_?"

"Why don't we start with my father the Congressman? He may be a freshman, but he has resources, favors, and most importantly, the public's ear. He may not be able to blow the lid off your little secret society, but I'll bet he can make things _damn_ uncomfortable for people I bet you don't want to be uncomfortable."

"And what if I stop you first?" Kurt thought he could see pinpricks of flame dance in Brody's eyes, but somehow, he didn't feel the least bit afraid. He most likely should have, but he didn't. Maybe all those years having to know and read bullies were paying off.

"I don't think you will. Or can," he replied. "Especially if your Agency really are the good guys, like you say they are."

"And what if Dave makes the wrong decision? There's too much at stake—"

"Then you do what you have to, and we'll do what we have to. But at least then it'll have been _his_ choice about _his_ life, the way it's supposed to be."

"It's not just _his_ life. You have to look at the bigger picture—"

" _Fuck_ the bigger picture! For God's sake, I don't know anything about any Agencies or other 'talents' or whatever the _hell_ you have to deal with. All I know is that I have a friend who was taken against his will. You want to give him control? How about starting _now_? Show him you really do have his best interests at heart. Let him decide for himself. If you really are the people you say you are, he'll make the right choice. Even if he doesn't, at least he'll have had control over his own life — control that it doesn't sound like _you_ ever had." Brody flinched. _Got you there, didn't I?_ Kurt thought with satisfaction. "Bring him back here, let him choose, and I swear, I will tell nobody about you. If Dave decides to go with you, I won't stand in his way." Brody snorted; Kurt's spine stiffened in offense. "Just... let it be up to him."

Brody stared, as if trying to read Kurt's mind through his eyes. Finally, he cleared his throat. "Suppose I do let Dave go, and he decides not to come with me. What do you two think you can do without me... us?" he asked, bravado returning to his voice. "If not us, then other people out there might get hold of Dave. People who'd be very dangerous — to him, you, everyone."

Kurt swallowed. "We have other options."

"Like?"

"Like... blowing the lid off."

"Off what?"

"Everything." Kurt would've thought he was striding into dangerous territory, had he not had the distinct feeling he'd blazed across that line long ago. "We'll reveal the existence of psychic powers to the world. Go on national TV, claim the Randi Prize, tell as many people as we can as often as we can. Do you think you or anyone else would be able to disappear us then, when we're worldwide celebrities?"

"You don't think we can stop you? Why do you think no one's done it before now?"

Kurt's heart stuttered. "Well..." he said through a dry mouth, "has any of them had a dad in Congress? Stop insulting me by assuming I went into this unprepared."

Brody laughed. "What, you have contingency plans? Dead drops? And you were calling _me_ a spy?"

"You get real creative when there's no other option. Let's just say that I have multiple redundancies in case something should happen to me." Like it or not, that was yet another way Sue Sylvester had helped him: by instilling some much needed paranoia. A couple of quiet consultations with Artie and some Google searching for what people did to leave behind online messages for loved ones in case of sudden death had given him plenty of ideas. "Look, I was told—"

"By who?" Brody interrupted with a suspicious glare. "How'd you figure me out to begin with? How'd you know about Miami and Stockholm?"

"You have your secrets, I have mine," Kurt said stiffly.

Brody shook his head in reluctant admiration. "Man, you're definitely the most... unique guy I've ever met."

"Thanks... I think. Regardless. I was told that your... Agency is the most moral organization out there that deals with... talents."

Brody nodded. "I agree."

"And you say you don't kidnap..."

"Unless we have to."

"What do you _prefer_ to do?"

"We prefer not to, of course! Most of our talents came of their own free will! It's better that way, because—" Brody blinked. "Look..." He paused, then began again. "Dave... He's going to lose control," he finally said lamely. "Soon. I thought... I thought this was the right thing to do."

"So you were wrong," Kurt said, crossing his arms. "Even the best — like myself — get it wrong occasionally. But now's your chance to fix it. If you really are the right option, then you'll still get Dave, only you'll have done it right." He prepared for what he hoped was the death blow. "You said Dave reminded you of you. If you were in his shoes, what would you want? Would you want to be taken 'for your own good'? Or would you want at least some chance to decide where your own life went?"

Brody didn't answer. He didn't even speak, or move, for long minutes. All the while, Kurt watched him, his ears pricked, ready for even the smallest movement or sound. Finally, he pulled a cell phone out of his pocket. He tapped at its screen, way too many times for any standard phone number anywhere in the world. He held it to his ear; Kurt's hands gripped his knees.

"Bring him back," Brody said to whoever was on the other end. Kurt's heart leaped. "I know, I know... But I'm going to do a standard brief. I know what I said, but I changed my mind. I have the authority to— Okay, fine. Just bring him back to the apartment. Yeah, I'll do the explanations and fill out the paperwork. Great, man, I owe you. Bye." He hung up and turned to Kurt, whose heart was hammering in his chest. "I hope I don't regret this."

The two sat in awkward silence for over an hour before Kurt heard footsteps outside. He rose as the door slid open.

Two well muscled men (not in black suits, but in standard urban street clothes — it made a lot of sense, this being New York City) entered; almost carried between them was a weary, bleary-eyed Dave Karofsky. Almost sobbing in relief, Kurt ran up and hugged him, but Dave barely seemed to acknowledge Kurt's existence... or anything else for that matter.

"We had to give him... something," Brody said. "So he couldn't break free."

"You mean you drugged him."

"I was going to meet him, explain everything once he was safely out of the country, but you didn't give us time to move him." Kurt was perversely proud of the glare Brody gave him. "It'll wear off in a couple of minutes." He nodded towards the two men. "Wait outside."

"Are you sure...?" one of them asked.

"This is my case. I'll take responsibility. If I need you, I'll give the signal."

"Roger that." The two men turned and left without another word, closing the door behind them.

Kurt gently led Dave to the couch and sat with him, Brody returning to his chair. As the seconds ticked by, he could see Dave's eyes starting to clear. Scant minutes later, he was blinking, looking around in confusion. "I... I'm back?"

"Dave! Thank god..."

"Kurt... what... what's going on? What did I...?" Then he saw Brody. Once more, Kurt could _see_ memories flooding back; Dave's face twisted into an enraged snarl. " _You!_ " The coffee table rose, swinging in the air like a cricket bat. Brody was barely able to duck out of the way.

"Dave, wait!"

"He did it!" Dave cried. "He was the one who fucking kidnapped me, and I—!" Dave stopped short, and Kurt immediately saw why. Brody had raised his hand and summoned another ball of flame. Dave stared, fascinated, at the crackling sphere. Slowly the coffee table descended, returning to the floor, albeit way out of its original position. "Holy shit... You..."

Brody nodded as he squeezed the flame out of existence. "Pyrokinetic. Yeah. Am I the only other tal— person with powers you've met?"

"Yeah, I... I thought I was alone, I..."

"Maybe..." Kurt said gently, "we should listen to what he has to say." He almost couldn't believe that he was actually saying that, but just by bringing Dave back, Brody had gone a long way to demonstrating he had Dave's best interests at heart. There was still a lot to be suspicious of, but he suspected that this Agency was worth at least investigating.

And frankly, they were running out of options. Still, his eyes and memories mapped possible escape routes (could Dave's telekinesis break their fall if they jumped out the window?) — just in case.

Slowly, Dave returned to the couch. "You're damn lucky I didn't just break your fucking back," he grumbled to Brody.

"No, I'm not," Brody replied with annoying calm. "Because Kurt's right: you're not that kind of guy." _How the hell did he know that?_ Kurt thought. That sort of sentiment only came up in private conversation... Then came the obvious answer: bugs. Of course they would. He shook his head in disgust. "That's why I wanted... That's why I thought you should join us."

"Join... you? Who the fuck is 'you'?"

Brody explained his work and employers to Dave much as he had to Kurt, with some added details here and there. Kurt used the time and repetition to watch Brody carefully, bringing all his theatrical training to bear. Now that he knew the truth, it was all so stupidly obvious. Santana had been right: the Brody they'd known before, the false cover, was "plastic," unreal. This Brody... This one was much more intelligent, much more mature, much more complex, much more worldly... or world weary. Of course, given Brody's track record, this could be another cover, but something inside said, no, this was the real Brody telling (what he, at least, thought of as) the truth.

He wasn't sure whether to be fascinated, scared, angry, or some combination thereof.

Dave's voice broke him out of his thoughts. "So you're, like... the good guys."

Brody nodded. "The Agency was founded by a billionaire's family. They're politically connected, with business dealings all over the world. They found out that one of their sons was a talent, and... they knew they had to protect him, no matter what. They invested millions of their own money in research and scouting, pulled all kinds of strings and called in all kinds of favors, all to protect him and others like him. A lot of our rivals were founded to exploit talents or wipe them out. The Agency was founded out of love."

Kurt rolled his eyes. It was a pretty and self-serving story, and he had to wonder just how much of it was actually true. Still, it would explain the Agency's apparent benevolence and reach, so it was probably accurate at least in the generalities.

"Yeah, whatever." _Go, Dave_. "And you take in people like me... like us... and you train them? What's in it for you?"

"Research. Figuring out the science behind powers, how they work, where they come from, how they can best be used. I know you think we're too good to be true, but there's benefit to us too. Willing talents are a better resource than ones we'd have to drug or blackmail or bribe into working with us." Brody fixed Dave with an earnest look. "But they _do_ care, a hell of a lot more than anyone else out there looking for talents. They think — they _know —_ that we're human, just like anyone else. That's one of their ultimate goals, Dave: to work the science until the world is ready for us — safe for us. Until we can go out and openly use our gifts, and not be hunted for it. They want us to be completely free someday, and not need them anymore. That's why I work for them, Dave. That's why I believe in them."

"So..." Dave swallowed. "They can actually teach me how to control my power? For good?" Kurt could sense the hope straining within him, struggling against fear and suspicion. He could sense it because he was feeling exactly the same.

"They can, and they can do it without putting anyone else in danger. They've been at this a long time; they've got technology you can't even imagine..."

"Really," Kurt interrupted. "They've got sci-fi level technology that no one else knows about?"

"Not exactly sci-fi level," Brody said. "And most of it only works with or for talents, so as far as the rest of the world is concerned, it's useless. But if you come with me, Dave, I promise, you'll be able to control your telekinesis, no matter how strong you get. If you want, you can train to be a field agent like me, so you can use your power to help other talents."

"How many are there? How many other people are there... like us?"

"We have less than a hundred," Brody replied. "Most people who work for the Agency are just normal people, though there are a few talents even at the highest levels. Out in the world? We don't know. That's why they have people like me trained to look for them and observe them. Though that reminds me... Deborah's been dying to meet you ever since she heard about you."

"Deborah...?"

Brody smiled. "She's our current resident telekinetic. I think you two have a lot you can teach each other."

That was it. That was the exact moment he hooked Dave. Kurt could see it, hear it: the widening eyes, the soft gasp. He heard Dave's thoughts in his own head, as clearly as if Dave were a telepath: _There's another telekinetic out there. Someone like me. I could finally meet someone like me..._

Kurt wanted to scream at Dave, tell him that these could be all deception, that this could be some kind of trap... But no, Dave's very presence in the loft put the lie to that desperate impulse. They'd had Dave already — had him so securely that he could've just vanished into the night forever as Brody wanted. But he was back, because Brody wanted him to make the decision on his own. What reason would they have to lie now? Well, there were still possible reasons, possible schemes within schemes, but they struck even Kurt as too paranoid to even consider.

On the other hand, now that he knew about psychic powers and shadowy organizations, was there any such thing as "too paranoid"?

"Suppose..." Dave gulped. "Suppose I do agree to everything. What happens to Ku— to my friends and my family? Do I just... disappear?"

"Here's what would happen." Brody's face was set and stern; the expression was so foreign that he seemed like a completely different person. "You would get a scholarship to study abroad in Europe at a school that's one of our fronts. After that, you'd tell your family and friends that you love it there so much that you're going to backpack through the entire continent until..."

"Until...?" Kurt prompted.

"Until he's ready. Until he feels that he's in control. We'll just update the cover story as we need to."

"What about my dad?" Dave asked. "How are you going to explain me not being able to come back for holidays and stuff?"

"We have a telepath. I've already called him in. Since Dave's father is the main point of contact with the rest of the family, he'll make sure that there aren't any uncomfortable questions or attempts at a surprise visit."

Kurt's stomach churned; Dave looked uneasy. "Altering memories without consent?" Kurt sneered. "I knew you people were too good to be true."

"We'll try to explain things to him first," Brody said directly to Dave, "let him give permission to do what we have to."

"And if he doesn't?" Kurt asked.

Brody grimaced. "We try not to cross the line. We try damn hard. If we bump up against it once in a while, it's only because we have no other good option. Peoples' lives are at stake. It's for his father's own good as well as Dave's." His tone was rather harsher than was necessary; Kurt had to wonder who Brody was trying to convince.

"And me? What about me?" Kurt asked through a sandpaper throat.

"I told you, I like you. And I kind of doubt Dave will go with us if we mess with you."

"Fucking straight," Dave muttered.

"Besides, if you cooperate, Kurt, it won't be necessary. In fact, you'd be able to strengthen the cover story."

"You want me to lie for you."

"It's the best way. His dad and your friends will get regular, very convincing looking updates from Dave's e-mail and social media."

"Yes, I know how convincing those are," Kurt said bitterly.

"If you have any suggestions for how to improve it, tell me." And he was actually _sincere_ , the infuriating...! "In fact, you should respond. It'll make it look more real."

"But it won't be Dave on the other end," Kurt said quietly.

Brody shook his head sadly. "I'm afraid not. Where he's going, Dave will need to be on strict lockdown for a long time once he's in. It's for everybody's safety, including his."

This was all kinds of wrong. Kurt didn't trust Brody, or his employers, as far as he could throw them. But listening to Brody all this time convinced him of one thing: he, at least, definitely believed in the Agency and its mission. His bosses could've been lying to him about _their_ goals and agenda, but his instincts, and Coach Sylvester, told him that it was more likely that they did indeed have a somewhat benevolent aim... Even if they did delve into dirty dealings occasionally.

And that was the worst part of all of this: even with the sinister shades of some of their practices and policies, if Sylvester was to be believed (and again, his gut said that she knew what she was talking about), the Agency was still _by far_ the best option out there. That spoke volumes about their rivals; he shuddered as he remembered some of Sue Sylvester's warnings. If they refused this offer, if one of _them_ got hold of Dave instead...

"You said there were other guys out there," Dave said, "guys who aren't as _nice_ as you. What if they find out about me? What happens to my friends and family?"

"That's what the cover story is for," Brody replied. "But just in case..." He exhaled. "I'll stay in New York for a while." Kurt suppressed a gasp of surprise. "I promise that I'll personally make sure everything's taken care of, that your trail is covered, that your dad and Kurt and Rachel are safe."

Kurt felt like asking what his promises meant, considering how much he'd already lied to them, but stopped short. There it was again, in his face and his eyes: a sincerity and honesty that had been entirely absent in the pretend-Brody he'd known before, except maybe when he was around Rachel. Kurt didn't _want_ to believe him now, but... he did. And from the look Dave had, barely visible out of the corner of his eye, he did too.

That fact had so many dizzying implications that he could feel the weight of the inevitable start to press down on him from all directions, as if he were caught in a vise... or being squeezed by telekinetic force. Because if they believed Brody, then it was easier to believe what he said about his employers. And if they believed what he said about his employers...

"They can really help me." Dave's question didn't sound much like a question, but Kurt knew it was anyway. "They can really teach me how to control my power."

"Yes," Brody said, a finality in his voice that could only have been created by absolute certainty. "No matter how strong it gets. Look at me: I could light half this building on fire in seconds. Before the Agency found me, I might've done it out of instinct or fear, or by accident... like I did when I was a kid. Not anymore. I'm in total control." The air danced with glowing embers, as if to prove the point. "Nothing so much as gets a little hot unless I consciously want it to. It took a lot of time and a lot of work, but if I can do it, so can you." He leaned forward towards Dave. "We've been measuring your power, Dave. You're right: it's getting stronger, and we don't know when it'll stop. Kurt's done a great job with you — a lot better than we thought possible from a human without any training — but you guys have already hit the wall, haven't you?" He didn't wait for a response; they all knew what it would be. "Please, Dave. Please come with me. There's no need for you to feel alone and scared anymore. You have a home with us, and we're waiting for you. You've got so much you can teach us. And think about the good you could do with complete control—"

"Okay, that's enough," Kurt said, standing. He had the distinct feeling that Brody was starting to use whatever he'd heard them talk about through his bugs; he had to suppress a shudder of revulsion. "Dave and I need to talk. Alone."

"Don't you think this is _his_ decision to make?" Brody asked mildly. "I mean, this is _his_ life you're talking about here..."

"Kurt's my friend," Dave growled, "and I want to listen to his _opinion_. Now get out."

"Okay. Fine." He rose. "I'll be waiting outside." He strolled out of the apartment as if he were just going for a walk. No matter what happened, Kurt thought, it was going to be weird — very weird — living with him after tonight, knowing what he knew now. _Think of it as... acting practice. You need to hone your improv skills anyway..._

First Kurt took a quick peek outside at the two muscled men and Brody casually waiting in the hall, before closing the door and checking the locks. Then he turned the coffee table onto its side, ignoring Dave's puzzled stare. He found the bug, a tiny disc of metal, glued to the underside of one of the railings. Spitting out an epithet, he opened one of the windows and threw it outside. Only then did he turn to Dave. "You want to do it." Dave pursed his lips and nodded. "I'm not sure it's such a good idea..."

"But this is my best chance," Dave said. "Maybe my only chance. This takes care of everything that's been worrying us—"

"And you don't think that in of itself is suspicious? This is just too good to be true..."

"Maybe, but they didn't have to bring me back." Of course Dave would've seen that. Dammit. "And it's not like they haven't acted a little shady already. Either they're too good to be true or they're shady. You can't have it both ways, Kurt."

"Granted, but I..." Kurt tried to stop himself from trembling, and wasn't sure he was succeeding. "I'm scared, Dave," he finally whispered. "I'm so afraid for you. I'm afraid they'll hurt you. I'm afraid I'll never see you again..."

"Oh, God, Kurt..." Dave rose, approaching him. "I'm scared too. But like I said, this is my best chance. I'll finally be able to safely learn how to control my power. I won't have to worry about hurting _you_..."

"You don't have to do this, you know," Kurt said, his voice still shaking. "We have other options. We could go on the run, we could go to my dad, we could go public—"

"And that's the best part!" Dave said, much to Kurt's confusion. "I know we have other options. But that's the thing... After all these years of feeling trapped, of feeling like I _had_ to go along with whatever got tossed my way, I _finally_ have a choice. I can finally be responsible for myself. And I'm making a choice, right now. We both know if I stay, I'll lose control, sooner or later. I'll hurt someone." Dave drew in a ragged breath. "I could hurt you. And I'd never fucking forgive myself if that happened." He reached out for Kurt's hands, taking them both in his own. "This is my best shot, Kurt. I can finally be in control. I can be a _real_ hero. I can..." Kurt felt his hands being squeezed. "I can become someone worthy of someone like you someday..."

_You already are_ , Kurt wanted to say, but he didn't. He couldn't. He remained silent, feeling his will weakening, the enormity of what was about to happen (he knew it was inevitable now) washing over him.

"I've been dragging you down for years," Dave continued. "You've been responsible for me, running yourself into the ground trying to help me and protect me. I'll always be grateful for that, but now this is me being responsible for myself." He let go of Kurt's hands; they hovered in the air for a moment, as if being held by telekinesis, before they dropped to Kurt's sides. "You can pursue your own dreams without having to worry about me. You can live your own life — a _normal_ life. Don't tell me that doesn't sound good. Don't tell me that's not something you want."

He couldn't, and guilt, objectively unreasonable guilt, overwhelmed him. Tears spattered on the floor at his feet. "Dave..."

"Hey." Dave gently reached out and lifted Kurt's chin. He wanted to look away, just for a second to dry his face, but he wanted to see Dave as much as he could, every second he could, before... "If these guys aren't legit, if they try to fuck with me or anyone else... I'll escape. I'll fight my way out with every bit of power I've got, and I'll come back. Or I'll be one of their field agents, finally in control of my telekinesis. Either way, _I'll come back_. I promise."

"You... You'd better." Kurt put as much of a growl into his voice as he could while still sniffling. "Promises _mean_ something, you know."

"I promise," Dave repeated softly. "And while I'm there, I'll make sure to keep them in line. Because a really good friend of mine taught me to be brave, and be strong, and stick to my principles, no matter what, and I'm not gonna disappoint him."

Kurt laughed wetly. "He sounds like a very intelligent man."

"Yeah. That's the least you could say about him."

There was a knock on the apartment door. Dave and Kurt stared at each other for a moment; then the former turned and silently went to the door, undoing the locks with shaking hand. Brody was framed in the opening doorway, the two other men behind him. "Made up your mind?" Brody asked.

Dave nodded. "Yeah. Mind if I pack some things?"

For all his training, for all his experience in doing God only knew what, in that moment, Brody — with his huge smile and sigh of relief — looked for all the world like the early 20's college student he appeared to be. "No. No, go ahead."

Dave quickly gathered up his clothes and personal items from the living room, then retreated into the back to retrieve more of his belongings, leaving Brody and Kurt staring at each other (the two other men being intelligent enough to pretend not to be paying attention). "If you hurt him," Kurt said in a knife-sharp voice, "if you've lied to me or him in _any_ way, I will _bring you down_."

"I..." Brody Weston — young pyrokinetic superspy or whatever — actually gulped nervously. Kurt was dying to ask him why, how he'd done it, but didn't want to ruin the mood. "Don't worry. I'll look after him the best I'm able. And I meant what I said about making sure you guys are safe. I really do like you, you know." Brody raised an appraising eyebrow. "You know, with all the good work you did with Dave, maybe you could consider..." He trailed off.

"Consider... what?"

"Never mind. Another time." Kurt was just starting to feel vaguely unsettled when Dave returned, backpack on his back and suitcase in his hand. "Ready?"

"Just one more minute."

"Of course." With a nod, the two (hench?)men strode forward and took Dave's bags. "I'll be outside."

Once again, the door slammed shut behind them. The instant it was closed, Dave and Kurt launched themselves at each other, each embracing the other with a trembling, tight grasp.

"Please... please take care of yourself, Dave," Kurt whimpered.

"Thank you... thank you so much. I could never have gotten this far without you."

"R-remember, you promised..."

"I'll never forget that. Or you. Ever. I... I love you."

This was not a declaration of _love_ — not like it was on that fateful Valentine's Day. No, this was different, perhaps even deeper in a way. "I know," Kurt replied. "I love you too."

The two young men held each other for a long while, neither willing to be the first to let go. Eventually, reluctantly, they parted. Dave wiped his eyes, and nodded. "If you ever hear about someone named Captain Fury popping up out of nowhere..."

Kurt had to laugh. If he didn't, he'd cry again. "I'll be on the first flight to Metropolis."

"Heh..." Dave nodded again, as if he'd run out of words. Kurt knew exactly how he felt. "Well, I... Goodbye, Kurt."

"Remember...!"

"Yeah. I promised." With that, he turned, opening the door once more. Brody was standing there, waiting patiently. Dave took one last glance behind him before shutting the apartment door. The clang as it slammed home sounded to Kurt's ears like a jail cell door.

Kurt suddenly felt drained. He staggered to the couch and sat. He didn't move. He stared at nothing.

Hours passed.

The apartment door ground open. Kurt couldn't even rouse the hope (fear?) that it was Dave, having changed his mind or something. He simply looked up dully as Rachel swept in. "Hey!" she said chirpily. "God, I'm starving!" She went to the refrigerator and began poking inside. "Did you get that text from Dave?"

"Text...?" He didn't have the energy to say more.

"Yes — about hiking in the Catskills. He just went off without saying goodbye...?"

"He said goodbye to me..."

It was a testament to Rachel's current state of hunger and self-absorption (her rehearsal had reached almost triumphant levels of quality, after all) that she didn't even notice Kurt's tone. "Oh, well, that's okay for you." She shut the refrigerator door, sticking a fork into a bowl of leftover marinated tofu. "But I thought we'd established a rapport these past couple of years, you know? For him to just run off like that while my back is turned..."

_I can't believe I'm doing this, I can't believe I'm doing this..._ "Well, you have been busy," he said in a tone that was surprisingly even and normal to his ears. "And he's had a lot on his mind. He's thinking of taking this offer he got to study abroad in Europe."

"Really! See, he didn't tell me about that either!" Santana, Kurt knew, would be much harder to convince. He'd probably need Brody's help for that and why the _fuck_ was he actually doing these peoples' work for them? Well, they _did_ have Dave now... Rachel shook her head, clucking her tongue. "I have half a mind to send him an e-mail and give him a piece of my mind!" She poured herself a glass of juice. "Oh, well. I'm going to relax with a snack and gossip blogs. If I'm asleep when Brody comes home, remind him that we still have that breakfast tomorrow with my director, okay? Thanks!" She disappeared into the back rooms.

Later, Kurt would call Adam. Later, he would pour as much of his grief as he could onto his boyfriend's shoulder without giving away any of his or Dave's secrets. Later, he would find comfort in Adam's arms, even as he would admit he couldn't quite understand the depths of Kurt's anguish.

But for now, for tonight, Kurt Hummel wept alone.

* * *

**Epilogue**  
 **Five Years Later**

Kurt brushed the hair out of his eyes as he trooped down the street. Rehearsals had gone fairly well, but it was later than he'd planned, and the evening was already jam packed. Elliott and Dani were expecting him, and he still had to get ready for his date night... He barely had time to shower, let alone answer e-mails... Oh, and he had some ideas for a new pattern to jot down...

The commute, of course, shaved off even more precious minutes. But Kurt wouldn't take back the move to Queens for anything. His apartment was light years better than anything he could've afforded closer to work, and the nicer neighborhood made him feel good — like he'd moved up in the world, even though he was still in his apprenticeship, career wise.

But oh, there was so much more ahead of him — he could feel it in his blood. His life had a trajectory now, like a car rolling downhill; it was inevitable. Only there the metaphor broke down; if it were apt, Kurt certainly wouldn't be eagerly slamming his foot on the gas.

Yes, sir, the future was bright for Kurt Hummel — as bright as the lights above Broadway.

He was just barely juggling an armful of fabric samples and binders as he made his way to his apartment building. A small group of men were gathered out front, cooing and chattering over a bright red 1959 Plymouth Fury parked nearby. Kurt stopped for just a bare moment to admire it, then tottered his way up the steps. He had more important things to do than gawk at a car.

Just as he got out of the elevator on his floor, his phone buzzed. It was a text from an unknown number. Kurt paused in the hall, frowning; it contained a URL to a New York news channel's website. It was probably spam — or worse, some kind of malware vector, and he was prepared to delete it, but then he saw the accompanying message:

_I'm back. I did it._

It could still be spam — or anything, really — but something about that message prodded at a wild, long buried hope. He tapped the URL; a video news segment began to play.

_A tale of survival out of Long Beach that can only be described as a miracle. Thirty five year old Jeanette Peterson lost control of her car Thursday night, sending it careening down a hillside..._

Kurt could already feel it coming. But somehow he still couldn't believe it.

_Her four year old daughter Laura says they were saved by an angel — literally.  
_

_"Mommy crashed and she was sleeping and I was crying. But then the angel came! He was really big and really nice! He said he'd help us. He made the car open all by itself! Mommy and I flew out of the car and he put us on the road! He went away, but he said the am'bulance was coming and that he'd watch us 'til they came."  
_

He remembered a hypothetical he'd suggested once — an injured hiker and a decision. This must've been easier, at night with a little girl whose talk about angels wouldn't be believed...

_Jeanette Peterson is stable and is expected to make a full recovery._

_"He must have risked his life climbing down that hill to save us. I don't know who he is or how he did it, but I wish I could meet him just to thank him for helping my little girl..."_

Kurt stopped the video with trembling thumb. He stared at the door to his apartment, his quickened breath the only sound in the empty hall. He turned the doorknob, somehow not surprised that it was unlocked.

There, in the middle of the entryway, an apple floated in midair, as if beckoning to him.

Kurt knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that this would complicate his life greatly — again. A lot had changed in the past five years; _he_ had changed. They couldn't just pick up where they left off... Not without consequence.

But when it came right down to it, he found he didn't give a shit about any of that.

Dropping his things to the floor, Kurt rushed into the apartment, eager to welcome his friend home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who like Kurtofsky, now is the point at which I think a romantic relationship between Kurt and Dave can develop. Kurt's been able to live life focused on himself, not having to worry about the safety and life of another person. Dave has grown much more confident, gained quantum leaps in his ability to control his power, is no longer dependent solely on Kurt, and now has a long term "job" in which he can put his talents, psychic and otherwise, to good use. If I ever write a sequel (a thriller/mystery, perhaps, in which Kurt helps Dave track down a particularly dangerous talent, or uncovering threats to, or within, the Agency), it would likely involve the two of them falling in love.
> 
> I also have a few ideas for some things that happened to Dave in the five years he was away — please express interest in either that or the/a sequel if you have it. As for Kurt, well, if you saw some implications in what Brody said near the end... You're probably right.
> 
> I haven't been this enthusiastic about a project for a while — I have no idea why. Maybe it just tickled the superhero bug in me. But I still have others I need to continue and complete, so I'll probably be looking at those next. Still, I won't reject coming back to this, not at all.
> 
> Thank you all for reading.


End file.
